Autumn
by tokyostory
Summary: Several years after his defeat of Ultimecia, Squall finds himself battling a much tougher team of opponents love, passion, fear and inevitability. SeiferxSquall [Yaoi Deathfic].
1. Prologue

Autumn  
Prologue  
by almasy  
  
"Through autumn's golden gown, we used to kick our way  
You always loved this time of year  
Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now  
'Cos you're not here…  
Like the sun through the trees, you came to love me,  
Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away…  
A gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes  
As if to hide a lonely tear  
My life will be forever autumn,  
'Cos you're not here… "  
Justin Hayward, 'Forever Autumn'  
  
"You're just a little boy…"  
  
Oh, God, she's calling to me again…  
  
Why, why, can't I stop it this time? I've fallen to her so often before, taken in by claims of grandeur, power and fame, fooled by lines spun as if from gold. Lies. Falsehoods. The gold was fake. The dream didn't come true. Nothing worked out as it should have done, and we failed. I failed, she failed, what's the difference? It all amounts to the same nightmare in the end. I almost lived in a dream world; where horror and darkness could not touch me, but if I know...if I know, in my heart that everything she told me was a sham, why can't I refuse her now? Shut my door against the onslaught of her persuasion? Two fingers to the force that ruined me?  
  
I could have been something. Hyne, no; she never got to my ambition. Damn near destroyed everything else inside me, but my drive remained intact. The fact that I could have, even should have, been a hero hasn't been robbed of me, and no amount of kicking in the street, filthy looks or banishments is going to change that. I mean, for fuck's sake, I was a Sorceress' Knight. I was second in line to damn near the most powerful person on the planet. Had she won, I'd have been stronger than God. Had we won, instead of him, they'd be yelling our names in the street right now. Praising our damned souls. Not his. Hyne, I could have been somebody…  
  
But she lost, right? We lost. So we're resigned to being failed nobodies. Or at least, I am. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, no? Seifer Almasy, so close to taking control of the globe, is now shacking up in scarcely more than a mud hut on the outskirts of Esthar. It's a joke, right? I stopped laughing months ago.  
  
Sometimes I think it's worse, y'know; to still have your ambition. Knowing that you've blown it is a lot easier on those who don't give a fuck about what day it is, or when life's going to end on them. You just sit back and wallow, then. But to feel that you're nothing, that you've given up every chance you had of glory, when there's a hunger inside you for it that just won't die…? Yeah, that's tough. But them's the breaks. Maybe one day, fate will do me a favour and I'll stop hungering. Until then, I just have to ignore the smell of the food, right?   
  
I never did stop kicking myself over it. Lost chances, stupid decisions. Idiot that I was. I wish I were him, sometimes. Squall. He has everything I'd die for, and he'd rather die than have it. Figures. The people's superman, that's what he is; everyone fainting in the roads when they see his face, bursting into tears at the mere sight of him. Worshipped wherever he goes. Everyone knows his name and associates all the good stuff with it. You can't go into a shop here, without some faceless customer or another combining the words 'Leonhart' and 'hero', or some such other glorifying adjective. Hyne, that was all I wanted. If I couldn't be loved by whoever created me, if I couldn't be truly wanted by Matron, or accepted by Irvine and the others, I wanted the world to be my friend. I wanted each and every person to embrace me. I wanted that love to surround me like a thick red maze of comfort and make me whole again. I couldn't love myself; I thought myself unlovable. By the time I realised that it wasn't true…game over.  
  
Sure, I wasn't the most appealing little kitten in the pet shop. I was an angry, arrogant little bitch at times, never lacking in attitude or abusive language, with violent tendencies that veered out of control. Maybe I was a dirty fighter to boot. But I wasn't rotten to the core. At the time, I remember believing that I was blackness itself; like a dark tomb that held horrifying monsters deep in its crevices. That nothing would ever throw a light onto me; cleanse the dirt from the walls. I believed myself thoroughly disgusting, and I acted the part. Horrible inside, horrible outside. I couldn't be like him, so fair and just and right, I had to play the monster I thought they all saw lurking inside me. It's a cliché, but wisdom really is a quality worth waiting for. Had I known then what burdens me now…I could have saved my own life.  
  
Would I have been a hero, then? Squall and me, perhaps? We could have both been kings in our own ways. Had I let someone, anyone, inside that tomb and showed them how black it was, how I couldn't escape it, how it tied me into knots and tore me apart, then maybe they'd have seen past my idiotic façade. Perhaps they'd have looked beneath the wisecracks and the arrogant visage. Maybe they'd have accepted my flaws and I. Hyne knows they did it for Squall. And maybe, just maybe, if they'd done that she wouldn't have tempted me, would she?   
  
But hey, someone has to play the bad guy. And I'd kept the role long enough, why not continue with it? Nothing better to do, after all. I'd probably have wound up no more a hero than a random guy in the street, anyway, if I'd have fought with Squall. If I hadn't run off with the bitch, there wouldn't have been a war for Squall to fight, and he wouldn't have wound up a star either. Hmm. Interesting conundrum, this life business.   
  
"I'm not a little boy!"   
  
I don't like the way she lures me. It's as if I know it all in my head, the ins and outs of why it's the stupidest idea imaginable to pay her the slightest bit of attention. And then, everything topples downwards. My sense flies out the window, my stomach tugs at me, and I hear her velvet voice seep through me. It's like liquid gold, her voice. Like Siren's lapping waters, soothing my spirit. It's still a nightmare, being trapped by her swaying tones, but like all sins, it feels so good that you can't help but enjoy the ride. Like I said: sense out the window.  
  
I want her to leave. I really want her to leave. But when it comes down to it, I can't tell her to. There's nothing I can do if she wants to summon me, much as I'd like to spit in her face and run for the hills. Maybe sense is no match for her power. Certainly the case in the war, no? There's no point in dwelling on the fact that she downright lied to me, that nothing she promised ever turned out as it should have done; the bottom line is that I don't have any other promises. I don't have any other offers, do I? Nobody else is banging at my door, telling me they want me, that they need me, that I'm everything to them. She is. Does that make it wrong for me to let her in?  
  
Hyne, maybe I am just a fool, to make the same mistake twice. To know that this can only bring more hatred upon my shoulders and agree nonetheless. But I'm scum already. I've gone down in history as the guy who lost. The villain. The one who tried to kill The Heroic One. The stupid bastard; the one they love to hate. Can I change that, by accepting her into my life again? I don't know. It doesn't seem like I can make it worse though, does it? See, that's my ambition talking again. Strive to change, Seifer. Your dream is still out there for the taking. You're somebody, you know you are. Reach out, reach out…  
  
Can I turn the tables? Who knows? But I can't just sit around and wonder the question, until I've grey hair and no teeth. I have to get out there and try. If it all comes to nothing again, I'll be executed this time. Fine. My life's over anyway, if I live the rest of it as a blank nothing, with a roof over my head that's threatening to collapse and nobody to care if it did. But if I win this time…  
  
Victory.  
  
…I can't imagine anything else that would taste that sweet, can you?  
  
---  
  
There's a moment, just after acceptance, when the fear hurts more than the persecution. It's an icy apprehension; no longer am I safe in my bed, hearing the voice but pretending not to. I am going somewhere; there is a purpose to my life. We have been brought back together, and even the bad guys get scared sometimes. She is calm, of course. Who? My summoner. Her identity is just another mystery that I cannot fathom out. My first thought, the gut feeling, is that it's the same old, same old. Edea, or ultimately, Ultimecia. The voice is too similar, the way she strokes over the words that make me weakest. She knows me too damn well. But of course, logic and reasoning has to get in my way again. It can't be Ultimecia; she lost her life as I did mine. Rules out that option, huh? But even I can't discount the persuasive argument that is the familiarity of her tone. It has to be her. Nobody else can work me the way she does. Even Squall couldn't bring the vulnerable out in me, though I tore it out of him. This Knight can't fall for anyone but her, and that's the cold truth. How she's come to me, seemingly beyond the grave, though, is something I can't explain. I know she passed her power down, but…that would leave my Sorceress as Rinoa. The thought that it could be her is just laughable, frankly. She's a nice girl, but she's only good for one thing, and Hyne knows it isn't her magical powers. Even beyond anything else, why would she summon me? Putting all that happened aside –how much she and the others must despise me for all I did-, she has Squall now. Does it matter if I was her first? She has no use for me now, and I'm willing to wager that the last thing she'd want is having me turn up on her doorstep again.   
  
So, that's a dead-end as well.   
  
Seifer Almasy; Sorceress' Knight extraordinaire, if he can just work out who his Fair Lady is…  
  
All I know is that she's requested my help, somewhere in the hazes of this dream, and I've accepted her pleas. Agreed to stand by her side once more; battle her foes no matter what part they may have played in my life. I've sacrificed my soul to her, poured my hope into a mutual engine for success and glory. All I can hope for is that we don't fly off the road.  
  
She'll reveal herself to me soon enough, I guess. What's important is that our bond is back, the bows of our ambition have been retied. We're not going to lie down and die here. We've our eye still on the goal, and I'll be damned if we're not gonna have another shot at it.   
  
The world better watch out. Seifer's a-coming back and I can't promise that his intentions will be completely honourable.   
  
Ready to play the hero again, Puberty-boy?  
  
--- 


	2. Chapter 1

Autumn  
Chapter 1  
by almasy  
  
My jade eyes slowly open to the sun's early rays, which force me to blink harshly as I struggle to accustom to the light. By estimation, I figure that it's probably about 6am. The sunrise is just fading; orange streaks mingling with the pure whiteness of the morning sky. I turn over onto my back and stare at the cracked ceiling above me as I muse. Was it all just a dream, then…?  
  
It's strange to wake up alone. But hey, before I sound too much like Irvine Kinneas, I'll explain myself. In the wars, I was used to her presence; my Sorceress, Edea. Who controlled her, whether it was Adel, or Ultimecia, Hyne…even fucking Old MacDonald, that was irrelevant. I consider myself Edea's Knight. So did she. She proved it to me when I woke up with her. For all that she subjected me to at other times; pains, punishments, taunts and torture, at night she was as soft as Selphie. I remember so many, many times waking up in her arms. I'd have my head resting against her collarbone, her fingers curled into the rough tufts of my hair. Her other hand would be cradling mine as I found comfort in her body. There was something soothing in lying so close to her; my arms around her, hers around mine. It was so different from the catcalling and harsh instruction that I was dealt at all other times, but then…she was different.  
  
I've heard so many crude jokes about her, about her fashion sense and the way she presented herself. Certainly, she liked flamboyance, she enjoyed spectacle and attention. But at night, or in the morning, she left all the show at the door. Au natural was her forte then, and holy Hyne, she was beautiful…  
  
People believe it strange, I think, that we made love even though she was 'Matron'. I don't know. Perhaps it's the GFs that have dimmed my memories of her from back then. I have little recollection of her as a mother figure, as the woman who brought me up, guided me through the world. I've heard others mocking it as 'a near miss of incest', but I don't agree. She was never my mother, for a start; biologically or metaphorically. I don't remember ever regarding her as a mother, and besides, I don't know if it would have changed anything had I done so. If you love someone, does it matter who they are? I mean, I see the problems when there's reproduction involved, but I don't see the point in denying your love for somebody -wasting it-, just because they share some of the same DNA. It's a precious emotion, and it shouldn't be just washed out. It shouldn't be denied because of something so insignificant. It's not hurting anyone, after all, is it?  
  
To me, she was my Sorceress. Far and above everything else, she was my Edea. She was the woman I believed I'd been born to serve. When she spread herself underneath me, weakening to my desires, she wasn't Matron. I ran my hands through her hair and I called her mine. Her wholehearted response was whispered against my lips, and I allowed myself to believe for a few brief moments that I had found my calling. My paradise. That she loved me unduly…  
  
That she always would…  
  
See. Some Knights really are romantics at heart. Another of our most prevalent traits? Delusion.   
  
Once Edea and I left the bedroom, normal proceedings would continue. The dictating and the making me feel small would commence, and I would retake my position as her Knight. Her Servant. No longer her lover. It was not a change I liked by any means, but it was a position in which I believed I could not manoeuvre. All I could do was wait for night to fall, when she would speak softly to me, tell me she loved me, and hold me close. She'd look at me with those huge, vulnerable eyes, throw her head back so that her raven hair spread all out, and tell me how much I meant to her. Spin me more of her beautiful, wonderful lies. Long eyelashes fluttering. Fingers stroking my face. Sometimes I wonder if it's the same for Squall nowadays. Are all Sorceresses the same? He's with Rinoa, I imagine. In my mind, I can see him being lured into a similar plot; tricked by the promise of affection, the balming hands on his body as he attempted to annihilate the pain inside of him. The heady addiction of love, the stunning sound of whispered words of devotion. I'm sure Rinoa's capable of the same tricks. Does he fall for them, like I did?  
  
Well, I'm never going to know, am I?  
  
I do wonder, though. Whether he lies against his Sorceress in the morning as I did mine. Whether she wraps her arms around him as mine did me. Whether he leans over, breaks the gap between them with a soft kiss, as I did. Whether he's happy, as I was.   
  
What's the point, though?  
  
I drag strong fingers through my messy hair. It's growing too long for my liking, but I haven't the energy to do anything about it right now. Too much thinking to do, still staring at the ceiling.   
  
Hyne, I've turned into Squall then, have I?   
  
I don't recall sensing a similar devotion in Squall, where Knighthood was concerned. Perhaps it was my egotism, a dogged refusal to believe that anyone could be a more loving and more faithful Knight than I. Maybe I just couldn't bear the thought that he might have beaten me again. And in matters of the heart? No, that would never do. To be out-loved by a human icicle wasn't exactly on my list of 'Things I Must Experience by 30'. Hyne, even 50 years wouldn't be enough time for me to get used to the idea of his passion outgrowing mine. There are just some things that don't change, and Squall's unnerving coldness is one of them.  
  
It's not that I don't miss him, exactly. He was the good boy to my evil guy, the hero thwarting my dastardly plans. The white to my black, as it were. Bit old, now. Just a tad pathetic. Still. We were always something more than that. Rivals, yes, but for a reason. Our natures clashed as much as our outfits did. We took opposing sides because our separate natures, our conflicting hearts and our divergent minds drew us each to them. There's always more to a rivalry than taunts and attire of contrasting colours, believe me. A true rivalry always contains a rift of a deeper kind. You're born into the role, in my opinion. You're created one way and you find your rival, and once you do, you can never remove him from your head. Even if you've beaten him more times than even an army could count, or even better, killed him, his eyes will still haunt you in your sleep. You'll dream of him. It's like an anti-soul mate. You were born for him, and even if you terminate his existence, he'll still pursue you like a long-lost love. That's just life, you know? You're born to be with one person. You're born to fight another. One of my most resilient beliefs? They should never be the same person.   
  
We weren't like that, though, not me and Squall. Not like that. It crossed my mind a couple of times, of course. When I could see the adrenaline in his eyes and the passion engulfing him as he drew his blade back, I thought about kissing him. More than that. Brief fleeting moments occurred where I'd indulge a little in the idea, pondering about what it would be like to taste his skin. Watch him sleep. Usual romantic, corny Knight stuff. The thought occurred to him too, I reckon. Sometimes I'd think that the casual glances he'd throw at me during class weren't quite as careless as he made out. There was definitely something in his eyes a couple of times, as if his train of thought were headed in a most filthy direction. It was probably a good thing I never bought a ticket for the journey.  
  
Oh, yeah. He was a living fantasy. Who wouldn't go there, given half a chance? But it wouldn't have worked out. It goes back to that rivalry thing again. He was an anti-soul mate, not a soul mate. A fighter, not a lover. You get the picture. I was born to battle him; to strike him, to kill him. Spill his blood, not his semen. Just don't go there. I could have killed him in the wartime. I was so close, with Ultimecia. How would that have worked out, if I'd been sleeping with him? If we'd been together? Complication overload. Could I have killed him? Given my mental state, I probably could have and then where would we have been afterwards? No. Give your rivals only hatred, if you can. Keep love and affection locked away. It's the only way you're going to make it through with your heart intact.   
  
K'so, we weren't some big love affair. Jesus. It's not like I was some balcony-chick, calling out to him with a rose in my hand. Yes, I'd have fucked him. And in time, yes, I'd probably have fallen in love with him. But the part I really miss, the bit I really regret missing out on, is being his friend. I regret that we were rivals, in that it stopped us pursuing a friendship. Like I said, rivals and hatred go hand in bloody hand. No room for companionship. It's a shame, because I think we could have really been something. Going back over the opposing characters idea, it's my belief that, yeah, it makes the best enemies, but often…the best relationships, as well. It's like trading; you combine your opposing sides into one being, one entity, and from there, the two of you become whole. Me and Squall, we could have been like the Yin and Yang, balancing out strengths and flaws with ease. Trading qualities to hide our respective holes. I was the fire to thaw his ice, and he the humility to soothe my conceit. I was the noise to cover his silence, and he the patience to curb my impulsion. He the thinker, I the doer. He the brains, I the brawn. Kit the pair of us out with matching weaponry, and Hyne; we'd have been invincible.   
  
Not only that, though. We'd have been inseparable. You don't need to complicate that scenario by putting us in the same bed, but I believe that we could have supported each other emotionally; far more than anything he'll be getting from Rinoa or the others. I may not seem to grasp much, but I understand Squall. I know what he needs. Hyne, I had to, always aiming to give him the exact opposite. But I can guarantee you; nobody back in Balamb has a wealthier resource of useful information on the Lion than I have. Rinoa may be holding him in her arms right now, for all I know, but she won't be doing it exactly right. After he's had a long day, when he's tired and angry at the world, he needs a strong hug. Arms right underneath his and as far around his back as you can reach. Pull him up towards you, get his head resting against your throat and his arms around your shoulders, and let him breathe. Silence. For as long as he needs. Not a word. But make sure you keep a firm hold on him, hold him tight against you. Squall gets scared, see. I don't think his irritation and tiredness is broodiness at all. I think its fear. I don't think he's moody, just…frightened. Of being left alone, of not being able to cope, of falling.  
  
Not feelings I share, but I know how to cope with their onslaught. He needs to know that you're not going to abandon him. It's essential to give him the reassurance of your existence, of your continuing presence in his life. He needs strong arms around him and a shoulder he can rest his head on. And if I know Rinoa, she isn't going to meet the standard. She'll pat him on the head and go back to her dilly-dallying, without giving him a second thought. Perhaps if he's lucky, he might get a small cuddle, but nothing compared to the way I used to surround him with comfort. K'so, I do honestly think that mixing love and hate is dangerous, but you can afford to blur some lines when someone you care about is crying in your arms. You won't avoid a bit of heartache that way, but what's life without a bit of darkness, eh? I just wish I could have gotten more moments like that. Been there for him more. Maybe been his friend, instead of his enemy. He'd have been better by now…  
  
But what do I know? Maybe I'm wrong about everything. Perhaps he's fine now, shacking up with Miss. Princess and enjoying sunny days filled with shoe shopping and hair styling. Maybe he doesn't like my type of hugs anymore, either. Maybe he's changed and I'm only hanging onto the image of the Squall I used to know. Maybe I'm as wrong about all of the Leonhart thang as I am about accepting my Sorceress back.   
  
I roll over again as her name graces my lips. My Sorceress. She probably wouldn't be all that impressed at my musings about Squall, I guess. I don't think she liked him, much. He distracted me. Turned my attentions and affections elsewhere. And Hyne, if she couldn't command my protective instincts, she wanted them all stamped out, not diverted onto her opponent's shoulders. She never did seem to understand that my protective urges were with her all the time. All those nights I lay in her arms; I wanted to lie there and protect her until the day I died. I would have given up anything in a second if she'd asked. I nearly killed Squall for her, didn't I? Yes, my devotion to her often exceeded my care for him. More than often. She never knew that. She thought it was all about Squall.   
  
Romantic Knight, I am…  
  
My love of the lady will always slay the affection to the friend. Call me shallow, call me disloyal, but it's the way my heart takes me, and probably always will. One of the rare values I share with Leonhart. His feelings for Rinoa, for his goal, made him hit me as hard as I hit him. His passion for that girl will always be a superior master to whatever he feels for me. And that's just fine. We're both Knights, after all. We both understand the business.  
  
I wish I could have made her understand, though, Edea. Maybe then she'd have taken me truly as hers, instead of keeping me as some halfway house between a scapegoat and a lover. Would she have left me in the morning, then…?  
  
I'll remember that. It'll be one mistake I don't repeat. She'll know how much I love her, this time. How I'd die to keep her happy, how I'd slay any soul that strayed into her path, how I'd give anything for nothing in return…  
  
Romantic Knight, I always will be…  
  
Even if it means turning my back on Squall. Hyne, as if that hasn't already happened. I haven't heard from him, and I don't expect to. Torturing someone and trying to kill them and everyone they care for, it has that effect. No, I think our paths are now set; directed as far away from each other as possible until the time comes for our revival. Not yet rivals again, but it'll be a while before I get him out of my head. For her, though…I'd kill him in a shot. That's what she needs to know. For her, I've never heard of Squall Leonhart.  
  
And for Rinoa, he's probably never heard of Seifer Almasy.  
  
The first step, though, in removing him from my conscious mind, is to stop acting like him. Enough thinking for one morning. I haul myself out of the warm bundle of sheets and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Subjected cruelly to the early morning chill in the air, I shiver a little and stalk into the bathroom for a red-hot shower.   
  
The floor is freezing on the soles of my feet, and I dart as quickly as I can into the thin corridor that adjoins the few rooms in the apartment. The hair on the back on my neck prickles in response to the cold, and I can't repress a shudder. Though my brain is fuzzy from sleep, -despite the prologned thought process I have undertaken since awaking-, I don't fail to notice the strange sensation of warmth against the sensitive skin of my feet. Looking down, I find a feather wafting gently over the linoleum floor, blackened-white and fragile looking. With a small shrug of confusion, I decide to ponder how exactly it ended up on my floor later on. For the time being, my only desire is to get both warmed up and clean, and without another thought, I pass by the foreign object and open the door to the tiny bathroom opposite my bedroom.  
  
The sight that greets me shocks me senseless. Stalled at the door, I grasp its frame for support as my eyes pass over the unbelievable scene before me. Everywhere. They're everywhere. Sprawled across the floor…  
  
Piles of them…  
  
Soft white feathers…  
  
--- 


	3. Chapter 2

Autumn Chapter 2

-Two months later-

I gave Quistis what I hoped was a suitably disapproving, furious glare.

She responded only by smiling sweetly.

The bitch.

No, I don't use that language very often in my job. Those sorts of opinions generally remain internal. Most of the time. I think I may well have let that one slip though, because her gentle beam is no more. A rather thunderous look has taken its place, and I find myself recoiling despite the familiar nature of the situation.

Before I cause anymore confusion, I suppose I should explain. I'm certainly a different Squall from the one I was nearly a year ago now. In every sense of the word 'different'. It would probably be easiest to explain by starting occupationally, in that not long after the War ended, Balamb Garden attempted to reorganise its staff. Cid, understandably, retired from his duties and I've heard that he and Edea are living a pleasant life together someone near the Dollet coast. Good for them. When he stepped down I think the majority of Garden, if not half of the globe itself, thought I'd be the one to replace him. I do not mean this arrogantly; it was simply natural that the world turned its greedy eyes to see who would become the leader of the Garden whose SeeDs saved it. Again, it seemed only logical that that person would be me. I'd had that title thrust on me the entire year, why give it up now? Well, I guess you don't always have to have a reason, because give it up I did and why...I'm still struggling to answer that truthfully. It requires a level of self-knowledge that I haven't quite attained just yet, but I'm getting there. I do know that I never liked being the leader. It just isn't me; I don't crave the power, and I haven't enough confidence to trust my own decisions, let alone the strength to try and make others believe in them. No, I would have sucked as a Headmaster. And I wasn't about to accept the post simply because everybody else wanted me to.

Those days were over. It was no longer about doing my duty, but about getting the best person for the job. Perhaps during the War, they'd listened to me because I was too cold to argue against. I never spoke, so when I did, they presumed it was worth listening to. Or because somebody told them all that I was the leader, and so they all decided unanimously to follow what I said and did, like lemmings on the cliff-edge. Either way, these views had been somewhat clouded by the panic induced by the terrors of the War, and I don't think I was the only one who saw that I just wasn't cut out to lead. There was still the expectation that I would lead nonetheless, and I'm sure I shocked a fair few people when I refused the position. I didn't want it, and I was fairly sure nobody else would want it for me either after seeing what a mess I can make when I'm not under pressure. Believe me; I thrive when I'm pressured. That's why I did well in exams, but never so good in class. I need to feel challenged to get my adrenaline going; it's the only way I can perform to my very best. If there's no noose hanging around my neck, forget it. That might have been the one part of being the leader that I enjoyed, because I hated the attention and adulation it brought. I liked the pressure and the cut-throat atmosphere. Of course, I didn't like the fact that we could so easily wind up dead; that would be taking the thrill of fighting a bit too far. What I did like was the challenge in the situation. Keep your head, Squall. Stay calm, stay cool, and we'll get through it. A Curaga here, a Phoenix Down there, it's going to be okay...

But managing a Garden in peacetime wasn't like that. I wasn't even the best leader when the conditions were ideal, so I was never going to hack the daily life of Headmaster. The leader of an army is very different to the leader of a military school. Placing your highest stake -your life-, against fearful opponents, bad odds and every bone in your body that's screaming to give in; that's a whole world away from sifting through paperwork and ensuring classes run on time. Hyne, I don't mean to sound so down on the job. It's tough, I know that. It's got a political edge to it that's easily as cut-throat as the battlefield. But in essence, it's giving out orders and maintaining top levels of organisation, and that's just not my bag. It takes a tough mind, an intensely observant eye, a wealth of knowledge and a lot of balls to do it, and I knew it was my time to step down. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do instead but I knew it wasn't office work. Politics appealed to me somewhat, and travelling, but there was no part of that welcomed the idea of running an entire Garden.

I'm glad she got it, though; Quistis. I'll admit that, despite the fact that right at this minute, I'd cheerfully strangle her. She was perfect for the task. She was always hungry to climb the ladder, her ambitious nature striving her upwards to achieve and achieve and achieve some more. She graduated before us all, became an Instructor before we had even made SeeD...it was always within Quistis to be the very best she could be. Her sacking hit her harder than she let on, even to me; her nasty little iceberg friend. From that moment on, I think her determination only increased. Failure only made her hungrier to succeed, and in a sense, I don't suppose her previous duties were enough to satisfy her. Being an Instructor, guiding protégés to become members of our prestigious battle-force, sure, it was worthwhile enough. But she was one of many. Younger than the rest, of course, and respected for her youth, but she didn't stand apart. She was just another teacher in the eyes of Garden, and for someone who'd graduated so young and achieved so much, it must have been a letdown to be considered just another of member of the staff. Though I don't think it was ever in her mind to take on the position of Headmaster, she was starved for a higher position within her home. She needed a greater level of respect and acceptance, and she wanted to be seen amongst the crowds. Her ambition was not to blend in anymore, but to make something of the childhood she'd wasted working her guts out. There was no better way of completing this but to inherit responsibility for the Garden that had shunned her.

I knew she wanted the job when they brought it to me. It was fairly soon after the War had ended, and I stood in Cid's old office along with the whole gang of "heroes", as we then were known. Myself, Irvine, Zell, Selph', Rinoa and Quistis. It was Cid who asked me, -who appealed to me-, to take up that which he was about to leave. He had no problem with admitting that he wanted only to place it into my hands, and I felt my face flush both with embarrassment and guilt that I should be so singled out from the others when I clearly did not deserve superior praise. Worse, I saw Quistis' reaction from the corner of my eye. As much as I was horrified at the offer, she was desperately envious. She tried to hide it, pulling the wool over darkening eyes filled with jealousy and disappointment and trying to smile some pride for me. I guess she thought the same as everyone else; that I'd instantly accept. Irvine was clapping me on the back and Selphie had to cover her mouth with her hand to hide her excited squeal. Zell looked psyched, grinning madly in my direction. They all just assumed I'd be honoured, thank you very much, and when could I start?

I couldn't do it. Not just because I didn't want it, and Quistis did, but because it wasn't right, as I've already explained. I knew that then as clearly as I do now, and I felt under no obligation to accept. The end of the War had changed me in that respect; I became more sure of what I did and did not want, and far more able to voice my preferences. I felt so much stronger, no longer merely capable of just doing as I was told. I would retaliate. I would speak up. I would fight back. It almost felt as if I was picking up where Seifer let off.

"I'm sorry, Cid." I explained, firmly. "But I can't accept. I can see how much you want my answer to be different, and that makes refusing all the more difficult, but I have to say 'no'. It's not what I want to do, nor do I think it would be any good for Garden."

The surprise radiated around me as the others frowned and gulped and gawped, and only Quistis seemed to understand. Perhaps it was her selfish relief, which I wouldn't have blamed her for, but her eyes gave away a comprehension of what I was saying; almost proud that I had learned to refuse when I did not want something. She of all people knew that I had often gotten carried along with what the others wanted, and my standing on my own two feet seemed to strike a powerful chord in her. Her face lit up into an admiring beam and when I caught her eye, she smiled tenderly at me. As the others recovered; Zell scratching the back of his neck in confusion, Selphie blinking, Irvine cocking his head to one side with an eyebrow raised, I looked back to Cid.

"I know I've let you down, and I'm sorry." I added softly, not without sentiment.

I was pleased to see that his expression best resembled Quistis'; a small amount of satisfaction at how far I'd come. Perhaps he had sensed that I didn't want the job, but his admiration of me had made him reluctant to pass me over. This I understood, but it did not convince me to accept what I felt I should not. As far as I was concerned, I wanted time to figure out what I wanted to do, and I deserved it.

They offered the position to her some week or two later, and I can't say I was surprised. She was perfect for the job; scrupulous and strict, yet with an authority soft enough so as not to terrify her students. She was, in a way, always like Matron. Scary enough to ensure obedience, but caring enough so that you could curl up on her knee if you felt lonely, or unhappy. I was surprised when Seifer didn't fall for Quistis, but that's a different story. So Quistis was presented with the job; an offer which she initially thought was my doing. That, as I told her, was untrue. My forte is indifference and I tend not to interfere when it is not my place to do so. I said nothing to Cid, -or anyone else for that matter-, about whom I thought was best for the task. It was their own logic that handed them the wise decision to give it to her and nothing to do with me. She believed me in the end, the stubborn woman; I guess she just lacked a little self confidence, not least because she knew she was their second choice.

Still, she naturally accepted, and has been running the place for almost a year now. She's doing a grand job, as it happens. As for me, I worked out what I wanted to do some month or so later, after a few discussions with Cid. And that decision emphasises the other ways in which I have changed. The title I work under is 'Foreign Ambassador' for Balamb Garden. No doubt about it, it's a very social sort of job so I've had to come out of my shell a lot. It's social politics but I like it. Granted, I still don't like talking much when there's nothing to say, but I do enjoy politics. Working out other people's lies and exposing their cover-ups is rather satisfying, thank you. Better still, unfolding hidden links between nations used to exploit smaller nations, there's fun to be had there. The job is dynamic and interesting work requiring a cynical mind, and I'm probably the most pessimistic person I know. I'm still not quite down with the social side of it yet; the making speeches and shaking hands and sucking up to Presidents. But I do like conferring with the important figures of other nations, some of which I'm already familiar with, some not. I like listening to what they have to say; their complex opinions about how to manage our political universe. I like the debates, and though I'm far less talkative than the others, I do put forward my own ideas to an audience that seems to value them. It's all a question of give and take, the meetings held to discuss our options and strategies, but nonetheless it can be quite a heated job. I essentially have to explain Quistis' decisions, and say one of those has been to send a SeeD force in to break up a struggle between two countries? Having to explain to two angry leaders why they're being prevented from undertaking the natural course of revenge for their losses is not the easiest task I can think of. It requires a cool head, an understanding of the need to fight, and a firm tone. And, best for me, it's filled with pressure. I live with the noose around my neck, and I love it. I don't mind being of a lower rank than Quistis, or basically being the one who has to clear her actions with some powerful and usually fully armed men, because it's not for a moment boring.

Last week I was in Galbadia, trying to reason with a suicidal President who claimed that Balamb-G's intervention in his plot to protect Galbadia by building up nuclear weaponry was going to mean the death of his country and his people. And when I say suicidal, I mean that he had the loaded gun at his temple. It doesn't really get much more pressured than that. As a plus, I get to travel; maybe I inherited that particular hobby from my father. The urge to travel was an itch to me; I always enjoyed seeing new places, but I didn't like the fact that I was there generally to destroy them. Working as a Foreign Ambassador means that I get to see locations I never got to explore during the War, which only adds to the thrill of the job. It's fresh, it's variety and it's exciting. No, I wouldn't do anything else, even if that means I have to suffer Quistis' loud demands when I return to Garden. Like now, for example.

"Squall, listen to me. I know you're busy with this crack head from Galbadia, but-"

"Trying to stop him from throwing himself into his grave, yes." I sighed resignedly. "Kind of important, I would imagine." My sarcasm gave away my dislike of distraction, a feature I've had since childhood. According to Irvine, I would play with little building blocks when I was in the Orphanage. Hey, most kids do that at some point, right? Me, I didn't so much play with them as use them as part of some secret, hugely important construction mission lasting up to four days solid. Seriously. It used to worry Matron until she was almost ill because once I'd started, that was it. I wouldn't eat, or sleep. Everything became about the building blocks. If someone distracted me from those building blocks, they were in danger of losing a limb, if not their life. I can still sense a similar dedication in myself sometimes, though perhaps obsession would be a better term. At least I've moved on from building blocks, I suppose.

"I know that." Her tone was steely. "But this is important, too."

"It always is with you." I teased, though not without steel on my words. However hard I try to make my irritance come out in a joking tone, it never seems to completely fool anyone. I think they know me too well. I'm a moody bastard by nature, and I struggle to hide that a lot of the time. Why Garden hired me, I'll never know.

"How do you expect me to get anybody to listen to what I'm saying, without a few dramatics?" She shrugged dismissively. "But I'm serious about this, Squall." I knew from her tone that she wasn't lying, and with a roll of my eyes, I put some letters and papers I was drafting aside. There would be no peace until I gave in, that I knew. I just had to hope that the Galbadian guy had some minders with him.

"I've received word from your fath-"

I waved my hand abruptly. It's my wish always to retain a sort of professionalism in our respective jobs, despite us being friends. Plus, I had not exactly gotten comfortable with Laguna being my father. It's not the kind of announcement that's easily digested, and though we have an easy, relaxed friendship and a strong business partnership, it would be a long time before I saw him as a Dad. Sensing her error, Quistis continued unabashed.

"From President Loire of the Estharian Government." She finished, studying my face for a reaction.

"What of it? I hear from him all the time." I pressed my fingers together in a little temple-shape, maintaining strong eye contact in the vain hope I could intimidate her right out of the room.

"Yes, he is a touch on the talkative side." Quistis mused, putting a hand to her telephone ear absentmindedly. "But it appears he has justification for it this time."

"Oh?" I leaned back on my chair, swivelling from side to side like a bored teenager, which in essence I suppose I was.

"Mm-hm. He's worried about a possible threat to Esthar."

"Hyne..." I breathed. "Please, not another Lunar Cry. Last time, it turned out to be 500 balloons, released from Fisherman's Horizon to celebrate the rebuilding of the upside-down dome thing."

"I remember." Quistis smirked and tried to hide it. "He was in a state."

"Moron." I muttered darkly.

"Squall..." She growled.

"What? Alright, he's my father. That doesn't mean I have to be nice to him when he's not here." Tip? Don't get between me and Laguna. Most of the time, I do not want to talk about it. I hate obligation, is all. To anybody. I didn't see why he should expect verbal compliments just because he contributed to creating me. Trusting people takes time with me, and I don't care if he's my father or not. He has to prove he's reliable, and then I'll think about praising him some. Like I said, moody bastard by nature. I'm not hung up on it, so don't even try and guilt-trippify me.

"I don't care what insults you throw at Laguna. My problem is that you're not listening to me anymore." She pouted almost petulantly. She's intelligent as all hell, but we all act like children sometimes. People forget we're still only 19 at best; we're entitled to a little immaturity sometimes. Yes, even Quistis.

I sighed. "I'm not sure I ever was. No, go on. My dear Daddy's having a crisis because something's threatening Esthar. Again." That time, I didn't even bother trying to conceal my sarcasm.

"Not something, exactly. Someone." Her face darkened slightly, and I sat forward a little. Interesting. I hadn't heard anything about this in my work and wracking my brains, no names of rebels currently darkening the shores of our countries came to mind. Very interesting.

"Going to enlighten me?" I asked. "I fear you may have been tipped off before me." My grin gave away my amusement; the battle between us to outwit the other is usually gentle and in the name of fun, but a competitive atmosphere does exist between the pair of us and she seemed equally entertained by the idea that she'd beaten me.

"Surely not!" She scolded, a glint in her eyes. "Well, yes, someone. We've been trying to investigate it, but it's somewhat difficult given the distance of Esthar and thus, the distance of our surveillance. They want somebody to go out there to do research."

"Not SeeD, I presume."

"No, too risky. Esthar isn't sure yet as to exactly what's going on. That's why they need reconnaissance done and no military intervention for the time being. They also need someone to speak with the Government, to try and establish the situation and then stabilise it for the people."

"There's a panic, then?" I asked, my eyebrows raised. This did appear serious. Usually, governments do not attempt scaremongering of this kind. With other kinds, yes; usually in the name of financial profit. Make out that common colds are life-threatening, glorify an expensive cure, ka-ching! That kind of thing. But threats to the country were usually protected at all costs from being leaked, because this risked the fleeing of up to 1/2 of the population for safer shores, meaning downturns in the economy and financial stability. For the government to have warned the people, the situation must be real and grave indeed.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Not many have left Esthar, as the threat has yet to be determined in terms of its size. But there is definitely the sense that Esthar is in danger, both from him...um! The...person, yes, and from the reactions of a terrified population." Quistis replied smoothly, though her eyes appeared fearful. There was something alien in her gaze that made me slightly suspicious, but I couldn't quite understand why. It was as if something was being kept from me.

"I see. Well, you can tell them I'll get out there as soon as I can, if that's why you've come to me." I replied, trying not to let my anxiety show on my face. This did sound indeed a serious situation, and there were tiny peaks of panic starting to rise up in my stomach.

"I had hoped you'd say that, yeah. I think it's what's needed now, until you can discover what's behind this threat, and how much of a danger it actually is." Her voice betrayed no alarm, and it suddenly felt as if we were discussing something as simple as changing the cafeteria menu.

I nodded in agreement. "I need to know the name."

"Name?" She repeated blankly, and I knew instantly that my suspicions had been right; she was trying a cover-up. Whoever this person was, she didn't wish to disclose him to me, and that made me angry. I do not welcome these sorts of lies, especially if I'm going to be sent out on a mission which concerns them. I'm clear-cut at heart; I like to know all the clean facts available to me. Even if they do concern details that might be painful. People tend to think that I went a bit screwy after the War, probably because of refusing the prestigious role I could have attained. There seems to be some silent conspiracy that believes I'm going to fall apart sometime soon. I've heard the whisperings, and I think they're taking bets. It makes me laugh, frankly. I went through a bleak period, yes, after it was all over, but I feel more alive now than I ever have. I'm settled, I'm happy. If they ever felt the need to worry about my sanity, during the War would have been the proper time. Back then, I felt like I was losing my grip on sanity. Now, I just feel free again, and Hyne, that's a good feeling. Aside from half the population of Garden thinking I'm a raving lunatic, my life is pretty good. Just have to set 'em straight.

"Name. Of the threat, please. Because I'm presuming that he has one." I repeated firmly, eyes back onto her with a sharp stare. Sure, we're friends. That doesn't mean I'll roll over to her and beg for mercy. She outranks me, but I'm scarier.

"Squall, I really don't..." Her voice tailed off uncertainly, and she toyed with the tips of her blonde ponytail with slender fingertips. Oh, no, I wouldn't do that. Don't stall and BS me. Very bad move. That really pisses me off.

"Now!" My eyes had darkened enough to really frighten her, and I knew by the way she started that my growl had caused considerable alarm. I have a pretty fearsome temper, one which I'd prefer not to have, but I have my father to blame for that. Amongst other things. The temper certainly does come in useful sometimes, though. Like now.

Lowering her head almost with shame and to hide her pained expression, she whispered the answer to my forceful question:

"It's Seifer...he's found himself another Sorceress."

--- 


	4. Chapter 3

Autumn Chapter 3

I looked at her with glassy eyes, the name ricocheting off me like a bullet. "What?" I asked as I sat up straight, though we both knew I'd heard her clearly.

"Seifer, a Sorceress..." She sat down on the edge of my desk, looking at me with an apologetic, tender gaze. I placed one elbow on its surface, rubbing at my scar unconsciously as I tried to absorb this information. After a minute or so, I realised that my breath had quickened and my heartbeat was racing. The shock was unbelievable and I wished I could have told her to leave. I needed more information from her, though, and we both knew it. She was resigned to witnessing my shock, not that she seemed anything other than quietly concerned. She's the mother figure of us all, I think; to me, especially. At some point, she stopped wanting to drag me into her bed and started wanting to protect me from harm, the way a mother duck guards her ducklings. Most of the time, her mothering drives me mad but I don't mind confessing that I needed it then.

She reached out and took my hand away from my forehead, holding it in hers gently. "Don't do that," she instructed. "you'll make it sore."

"It helps me think." I replied tonelessly, looking up at her for some kind of reassurance. Something that would reverse the last five minutes. Anything.

"Maybe. But I don't think that's why you do it." Her voice was almost inaudible and it reminded me so dearly of Matron that I almost felt tears rising in my eyes. Shock isn't something I take well, in case you hadn't noticed. Nonetheless, she persevered with her argument,

"You touch it because he gave it you, that's why."

I looked at her sharply, initially thinking that she had a bloody cheek to say so. I knew she was right, of course, but losing face by admitting it wasn't on my list of favoured options. "Right." I merely responded, too weak to fight about it.

"It connects you. There's nothing wrong with that, and I know you miss him." She paused, then added, "It's something you do a lot, that gesture."

That, I was strong and keen enough to counter; being convinced that she was a) wrong and b) without suitable evidence to back herself up. "Bollocks I do."

"You do." She insisted, stroking my hand kindly. "It drove Rinoa up the wall."

Oh, Hyne...Rinoa. There's another thing that changed, and I may as well lump it in with Seifer. I think it can be easily summed up by saying that I just wasn't made to love a woman. I have a problem with them. Universally, they all possess the exact same talent at annoying the hell out of me and driving me insane, all at the same time. Even Quistis, who has become like a sister to me, shows particular skill in aggravating me. I don't know what it is about girls; we're just not compatible for long periods of time. I don't mind them as friends, provided I'm excluded from the shopping trips and the constant gossiping, but I can't even begin to imagine how any man manages to shut one up for long enough to sleep with one. Rinoa is someone who I love very much as a friend, but the idea of sleeping with her usually results in my having hysterics. I'm convinced she'd have to stop halfway through to make sure her hair wasn't mussed up, by which I mean her no offence. It's the way she is and she knows it. She's with someone else now and she told herself me that she answered the phone once when they were making love. Worse still, -and proving my theories about women and their motor mouths-, she refused to hang up no matter how much effort he put into pleasuring her. That's chicks for you. Rinoa and I were just not meant to be together, end of story.

She's my Sorceress, and I her Knight. That's what Selphie uses as an argument for us getting it on. Selphie's a pervert, really. Rampant. She fancies me nearly as much as she fancies Rinoa, and the idea of us together drives her crackers. Her words. Another thing about women right there; they share too much information with you. Anyway, there is the whole bond thing between Rinoa and I. Why it means I have to screw her, I don't know, but people have romantic visions of us Knights. I don't even consider myself a proper one, to be honest. I hardly see her, mostly. We rely on our trusty telepathic communication and besides, I don't think her boyfriend likes her having me as a slave. It's too weird for him. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I never got into girls sexually and I was unsure about Rinoa, but by the end of the War, I knew that my affections were purely at a platonic level and she knew that I was gay. This was strange, because it wasn't anywhere near that clear in my mind. It wasn't even that she minded. She's still trying to find me a boyfriend, for crying out loud. I've accepted that it's what I am now, if only because the idea of loving a woman makes me want to nail my ears into a wall. I've always had a slightly odd thing with men, mind. Damn Irvine and his resistance to memory loss. This is where he tends to pop up with yet another cheerful anecdote from our time at the Orphanage; mostly useful in forcing me to accept major lifestyle changes or bizarre personality traits, like the building blocks obsession. Whether it's all made up or not, nobody knows because we can't remember. I am thinking of writing to Odine about that. Not being able to remember your childhood sexuality because of a GF is ridiculous, I'm sure of it.

I guess, though, that this is where Seifer comes in. Irvine swears on his life that when we used to have storms and such in the Orphanage, -and they'd be right monsters because of living next to the sea-, that most of us would hop into bed with our nearest companion for comfort. I'm sure he's probably right because I have dim recollections of his always sleeping with Selphie, whether there was a bloody storm or not. He claimed that Zell usually curled up with Quistis, because she was intelligent. What on earth that had to do with anything is beyond me, but that's Zell for you. Logic isn't exactly his best friend. But, Irvine claims, the very first person out of all of us to move was Seifer. That'd make sense to me; he hates storms more than anything. I don't really know why and I don't think he does, either. They just scare him shitless and apparently in the summers back then, we used to get lots of them. Apparently, the minute the first little rumbles started, way off in the distance, he'd be straight out of his bed and into mine. His macho reputation would fly out the window, but he didn't seem to care for toffee. All he wanted was protection from the scary storm.

Why the fuck he thought I'd protect him is completely incomprehensible. I was cold to everyone and everything at that time, apart from the building blocks. Yet he still chose my bed to sleep in when he was frightened, and my iciness never deterred him. Like I said, I don't recall this at all, but Irvine insists it's the truth. I don't see why he'd make it up, mind. I doubt he finds the idea of two men in bed together particularly attractive. Not that there was anything sexual about me and Seifer, ever. We're complicated, alright? Complex and a complete mess together, but we weren't ever sleeping with each other. Honest to Hyne. I don't think it ever totally crossed my mind, either. Not clearly. Maybe hazily, because I knew the way I felt about him was strange. I was aware that that there was something wrong with the emotion I usually felt when I was looking at someone I was supposed to hate. I've never been able to hate him, not properly. I couldn't muster it. I hated him for interrupting my chronic silence, or at least, I thought I hated him. I didn't like his hot interference into my life, or what I called a life and I despised him for the very action of making me despise him. I hated feeling and he made me feel, so I guess it was a natural assumption of mine that I thus hated him. Teenagers, alright, have very strange logic at times. Don't blame me for this.

I mean, ironically, I understand it now. I fancied him something rotten. He had all that dastardly charm; the charismatic, carefree bad-boy. Seifer never really gave a fuck about instructions or rules and I admired him for the fact that he could just walk on the wrong side and not care. But had I my time with him again, it wouldn't be admiration that would take it up. I'd have ripped that damn trench coat right off his back, along with some other garments I might mention. Yes, I admit it. I'm absolutely hot for him. Still, even after everything that happened. I was never all that good at hating him and we've been linked ever since we were kids. I sometimes think we pretended we were rivals because it made it easier for us to bear each other's company, because at the heart of it, we liked each other and hated doing so. I liked him, I reckon he liked me and we're immature so we say we hate each other's guts. Problem was, we never grew out of it. We resented each other for not being able to hate properly and the stronger the resent, the harder we fought. He cut my head, I cut his back. And yes, I probably do touch the mark more than is necessary. Rinoa did have a bit of a complex about that; she said Seifer did the same thing when they talked about me. She went out with us both, I suppose. Out of anyone, she'd know.

Hyne only knows what the deal is with Seifer and I. It was always more than a straight-up black versus white thing. I know now that my part in it was repressed sexual tension but what he feels for me remains a mystery. Irvine reckons he's bent and that he wanted me something bad. I'm not sure of that, at all. I could argue that he dated Rinoa but then so did I and I'm as bent as you're gonna get. I know he slept with her, his Sorceress. I know that because...how? I don't even know how I know. Perhaps it was something about the way he looked at her; those tiny glances of longing and of secretism. His trying to conceal his love for her and the way she felt bold enough to command him. The wisecracks, the taunting. It was all too involved, they were each too intimate with the other and I knew by the final battle that they'd been sleeping together. Out of whether she forced him, as part of the mind games and to seal his devotion, or whether she didn't have to, I'd go for the latter. My opinion is that he loved her, certainly. That he wanted and probably needed to go to bed with her. But all that doesn't make me any surer of his sexuality. I never saw him show any sexual inclination towards men and I know he slept with women. That tells me he's straight as an arrow, but something in my heart, or more likely my dick, doesn't want to get rid of the fantasy. Seifer would be a bloody good fuck, trust me. Just...trust me.

There was a time, as I've said, when I believed he was in love with Quistis. He flirted with her like crazy and every time he saw her, you could tell he was thinking with his dick. But apart from that and this might be why I know he slept with his Sorceress, Seifer always sought sex with those who could protect him. He always wanted to be protected. Matron used to protect him, when he thought nobody was looking. He'd cry on her shoulder until he couldn't breathe. Quistis is a lot like Matron; she cares in the same motherly way, and I think Seifer was drawn to that quality. Only thing was, he was an adolescent male by then and thus, he was thinking with his dick. It was why he found himself unable to stop teasing her instead of telling her he fancied her. Hyne, if he'd been older in that Orphanage, Matron would have been in serious trouble with him. That's why I believe he slept with his Sorceress. Because if I know Seifer, he'd have considered Edea his Sorceress. Matron. The same woman who'd comforted him through his years. His capacity for devotion seriously flattens mine and there's little doubt in my mind that he wanted to make love to her. She probably didn't have to brainwash him to bed him. All anybody has to do to Seifer to get underneath him is offer him comfort. I'm deadly serious; you can see it in his eyes when he seeks a lover. He wanted Quistis because she's beautiful, yes, but she has a nurturing capacity. That, my friend, is irresistible to Seifer.

And just so you know, I was never in love with him.

That's never.

"Yeah, point taken." I concluded to Quistis. "I need him, I want him..." I retorted sarcastically, rolled my eyes and then sighed, brushing my hair out of my eyes with my free hand.

"Squall, just shut up, alright? What you feel for Seifer, you have to finish. I don't care if you love him or you hate him, you have to get rid of the emotion towards him. It's too dangerous now." Her voice, though her words were harsh, was gentle. I winced all the same. I was ready to hear more, to get to the bottom of this horrible mystery.

"What's going on, Quist'? I need to know. Everything you've been told, tell me."

"I've been contacted by Esthar. They've claimed that, well...you know Seifer's been residing there, don't you?"

Actually, no. But continue. I raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh. Well, I guess Garden didn't want you chasing after him like a lovesick puppy."

"I resent that." Oh, my Hyne, how obvious has I been, exactly? Had everyone except me been included in some mass e-mail chain, confessing all about how the great Leonhart wanted to get into Seifer's pants? Oh, fucking hell. I tried to keep my voice steady and non-committal.

"You want to hear the rest, or not?" She smirked.

I glowered at her, but waved my hand for her to continue. Her smirk transformed to a beam; a little smug one, but despite her teasing she was still keeping a hold of my other hand within her strong grasp.

"They're claiming that Seifer has been summoned again." She informed me. "By whom, they don't know. But they're aware of a rising threat. You know Seif'." She said it almost affectionately, "he can't just be summoned quietly."

"Hm. So he's making a song and dance out of the fact that he's got a new Sorceress?" That seemed strange. Surely if he intended to be a threat, he could draw little benefit from revealing himself so early on.

"Not exactly. But they are aware of it. He's beginning to prepare himself, see." Quistis pressed on, looking intently into my eyes.

"How do you mean?"

"They say that they've been monitoring him as much as they can without raising suspicion, and that it's suspected that he's trying to form an army."

I absorbed this information. "And is he succeeding?"

"They don't know, they can't be sure. He seems to be recruiting, but they have no numbers as yet."

"Get them onto that, will you? If it's true, then his intentions obviously aren't of a peaceful nature." I mused, sensing that something wasn't quite right about all of this but realising that my caution stemmed from not being out there. There were too many gaps in this radical idea and I would have to gain access for myself if I was to understand it fully. I didn't think for a second that the mission would be difficult. I know Seifer too well for comfort and I felt sure I could thus diffuse the situation pretty easily.

"Sure thing. You worried?"

"A little, but don't start a panic just yet. I need to get out there, Quisty. I don't understand what's going on just yet. Seifer's found himself a Sorceress, he's a Knight once again and it looks as if he might be attempting another shot at taking over the world. That, on paper, doesn't look so good for us. But, like I said, I can't decide anything until I'm out there." I was thinking aloud, but I knew that I couldn't do or say much more whilst I was still in Garden. This matter required urgency and I was in an instant on my feet, sorting and beginning to pack my paperwork together.

"I think it's best, yes." Quistis murmured, finally letting go of my hand and glancing at my hurried actions with some disdain as scattered papers flew everywhere. "I can get you out there tomorrow, if you want, but I will have to stay put, I'm afraid."

"I know. That's best. I'm not out there to kill him, am I? I won't need back-up." It was more a snappy statement than a question.

"Not yet." She retorted darkly, and then sighed. "That's why you have to try and detach from him, Squall. You don't know yet what you'll have to do with him."

"I'll deal with that if and when it happens. Quistis, what I need you to do, instead of worrying about how I feel about Seifer, is to maintain contact with me, you understand? I'll need updates on your communications with the Estharian Government, because I'll spend my first few days observing Seifer. I won't make contact with them until I feel I'm familiar with the situation. That's why I need you to keep up relations there, act as a go-between for us both."

"Of course." She said simply, as if this had already occurred to her. "That's fine. I'll request updates from you, too, about the nature of the situation. I'll need to know soon if this is going to be Sorceress War mark. 3, Squall. Very soon, if we and other Gardens are to prepare. We're already weak from the last one, so I hope it won't come to that but if it is likely, we need to know that from you." Her tone had already switched from caring to authoritative and her eyes were determined and steely yet somehow respectful. I nodded. What I had to do was clear to me. Watch Seifer, report back to Quistis. Meet Government, discuss with Government, report back to Quistis.

Piece of cake or famous last words?

"I'll set out there tomorrow." I informed her, gathering everything I would need from the office before heading for my room to pack anything else I would require and to get some rest. Preparation being key to a successful mission, I tended to start early.

"Fine." She replied. "I'll meet you at the front gate at 0400 hours for a last update and a re-cap. Get some sleep, you'll need it."

As I turned to leave the room, I looked back at her; a figure of drive and ambition, unwearied by the weight of her job. I admired her, truly, despite how she grated on my nerves sometimes. I loved her like a sister.

"Oh, Quistis?" I added, suddenly remembering what she'd distracted me from in the first place.

"Mm?"

"Keep an eye on the Galbadian Pres. for me, will you?"

She stared at me blankly.

"Just keep telling him to put the gun down." I informed her and left. I had a night of good sleep to catch up on and I wasn't planning on wasting another minute delaying it. Tomorrow wasn't going to be easy and I needed all the help I could get. I only hoped that this would be the one night when he wasn't in my dreams.

--- 


	5. Chapter 4

Autumn Chapter 4

Let me tell you something, and listen up. Only the unluckiest of damsels in distress would end up with Squall Leonhart as her Knight.

Yours truly.

Hang on. Before I have half the population of the world knocking down my door with a variety of dangerous weaponry, allow me to explain. I mean, it's not everyday that someone disses the resident Lion. Surely worth a listen, right?

Okay. So maybe what I said isn't quite true. To give him his due, Squall was pretty talented with telepathy. Almost too good, perhaps, when I was young and impressionable and forever trying to size up his crotch. And he did save me quite a few times from the beasties and the scary magical women with even scarier plans for the world as we know it. Heavy stuff. Don't get me wrong; when he saved me in space, I had big hopes for him. I was trapped in that seal, all prayers abandoned to the cold realisation that This Was It. I was too scared to hope anymore, too petrified to form even the simplest of escape plans. I was no heroine; tears streaming as I stared at the one link I had to a world that was only just beginning. His ring, floating in front of me like a taunting trinket, reminding me of a life I was about to depart from. One in which I still had so much to do...

And then, him. Coming for me the way a hero should; eyes blazing, hair flying. He saved me from losing everything and gave me the chance of life again. Right then was when it crossed my mind that I was going to get my perfect ending after all. For I, Rinoa Heartilly, had always been a damsel awaiting her Knight in shining armour. Of course, I wanted my own place in the spotlight; I worked to gain my own strength and resilience, but I was no feminist. I was quite prepared to let him take centre stage and be his dainty maiden. I was a child of fairytales, so sue me. I didn't have the heart to burn my bra and avoid men for all eternity. I wanted one of my own with such a burning fervour that submission was never something I questioned. It was my aim as becoming a doctor or going to University is to others. Yes, there was the Forest Owls. That was my other passion, where any feministic leaning I had was injected, but deep down, I just wanted to be made a wife. Preferably by the Knight I was destined to be saved by.

There was no doubt in my mind that it would happen. I continued my work with the resistance force with determination, knowing underneath that one day, my dream would come true. I'd be waving from some bewitched castle-top, gazing prettily at my Superman; clad all in white and holding aloft a great sword as he slayed all of the monsters holding me captive...

Squall scored full marks here.

And then, he'd take me in his strong, firm hands, hold me close to him so that I could inhale the intoxicating, oceanic scent of him and kiss me. Really kiss me.

And here, he failed.

No girl is completely happy with accepting a hug in place of a passionate kiss, no matter how loving or tight the hug might be. Where romance is concerned, some things just aren't cricket. Selphie assured me that the situation wasn't as dire as I imagined and that a hug from my Knight was worth ten million from any other male, because Squall would rather amputate his own head than go within 5 feet of the arms of another human being. This apparently meant that he thought I was very special. Selphie at least, was very sure that within two weeks he'd be trying to rip my knickers off.

Irvine, to give him his credit, knew the whole time.

Squall was gay.

Hmph. Not exactly Cinderella, now is it?

Needless to say, Squall never went anywhere near my underwear. His pathological fear of female lingerie wasn't in itself a great quality for a Knight and I was left in a sticky situation. Sure, I had my Knight and he'd saved me and the world, and he was as gorgeous as sin itself. It was just like the fairytale, except for him saying,

"Sorry, Princess. Didn't I tell you that I'm in love with this Knight I met...?"

Of course, he didn't say that. That was a figment of Irvine's imagination, though his impression of Squall had obviously been well honed. Squall didn't say anything at all, which was quite typical. He wasn't even aware of it until it dawned on me in a sudden flash of darkness. In any event, it just meant that I wasn't the only one desperately seeking a Knight to love and protect me. It appeared that Squall had set his sights in a similar way. Of course, I was pretty pissed. I seem to remember some vulgar language left my mouth and when I think back, vague memories of violent behaviour surface as well.

Oh, come on. Don't look at me like that.

I was just a girl and the guy I'd fallen for had agreed to my accusation that he was in fact, just as hot for the guys as I was. If not more so. It takes the wind out of your sails, you know? Besides, it was the echo of the time. The world has just been pulled back from the brink of disaster; everyone was embracing loved ones and having the relieved times of their lives. Selphie and Irvine were setting personal bedroom records, and Zell was working wonders on the library girl. There were rumours that Fujin had chased Seifer halfway across the world and in reward for her efforts, had bedded the ex-Knight on a deserted, sunsetted beach. What I mean is that hormone-fuelled romance was in the air and I wasn't even allowed a sniff at it. And believe me, if I've a weakness for anything besides icebergs and leather pants, it's romance. It's in my blood from my mother. She used to sing about it, and if I had half the voice, so would I. 'Eyes On Me' sometimes seems so much like my feelings for Squall that it scares me, so I guess I got my sappy side from her. My sentimental side, I assure you, did not come from my father; for whom 'understanding' is no more than a word carrying many syllables. It's okay, though, because we girls are supposed to be romantic, right? We've evolved to wait by telephones, gasp at floral gifts or diamond treats, simper and sigh and bat our eyelids in candlelight. That's just the way we are, isn't it? I don't know. Maybe it is just me who wanted the whole deal; the husband, the 2 children, the beautiful house and the household Labrador. Hell, even the Forest Owls was a romantic venture. Fighting for justice, selflessly devoting yourself to a good cause and to creating a better world...sentimental, huh? That's just who I am. I can't help that, anymore than Squall can help wanting men.

But still, I suffered. I felt excluded from the one thing I'd always wanted; the fantasy I'd held for so long. I'd thrived on it, growing up and now that I had my best shot at obtaining it, Squall wouldn't comply. Didn't he understand that it was everything I wanted? Didn't he realise how important it was to me? How could my Knight reject me, when Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella always got their Princes? This wasn't the way of the world that I'd learnt and I was unused to refusal, incapable of understanding non co-operation. . Anything that didn't result in me getting what I wanted went under the 'cannot comprehend' category. This particular incident was absolutely guaranteed an inclusion in the category. I'd been a spoilt brat all my life, I'm sorry to say. Only, the blow was bigger because of the passion I held for it. It wasn't just another meaningless present or a financial hand-out, it was my dream. Being offered me on a silver platter, only the stubborn bastard wouldn't let me even taste it. At least, that's how I saw it. I'm ashamed of what I said. I can merely try and explain why I reacted with such humiliating anger.

I couldn't touch Squall the way I wanted, and though he was affectionate, it was the cool hands of brotherly love that touched me. He treated me like a sister, as if he were some dutiful Guardian. Not like the Knight he was; not filled with passion and heat and sex. I had a wounded pride, I admit it. I couldn't see why he'd rather sleep with a man than sample my delights. It was downright insulting. Men, yes, men are beautiful. Their bodies are godly, in places. But they don't compare to women, when undressed. They look stupid when they're aroused. Women are sleek, are neat and tidy. Men...dangle. I don't swing that way, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that we females have better nude aesthetics. And besides, why would Squall want to go through the pain of being fucked when he could just take the easier route and screw me? Sweet-faced, shapely Rinoa.

But all of that was before. I've had a while to come to terms with his leanings, now. And though I still can't understand his choice on a superficial level, I no longer find it personally embarrassing. He's now fairly sure he's been gay a while and repressing it, for one thing. At least it wasn't my influence that sent him over to embrace masculinity. And then there's the fact that I've moved on. I'm with another guy now, and whilst he isn't a hero, or a Knight and though he didn't save the world, I like him all the same. I guess I've learnt that love, that romance, it isn't about saving yourself for some Superman and then building a relationship based on your adoration and his indulgence. It's about mutual heat, passionate equality, and above all, fun. Whether or not I liked to admit it then, our professional bond would have gotten in the way had Squall and I been together. I said before that Squall was a weak Knight and in some ways, he is. He can't complete the picture of the romantic persona of a Knight, for one, and he's more a Neo-Knight in all areas, if such a thing exists. He's always there, but not usually in terms of physical presence. He encouraged me to build up my mental strength so that I could summon him when I needed him and therein lies our tie. We see each other socially quite a bit, but otherwise rely on our telepathic capabilities. Not exactly the way most Knights choose to play the game and possibly not the safest in terms of protection of a Sorceress. Quistis had her doubts about whether Squall was fulfilling his duties, and qualms breeding from there about how competent a Knight he was if he could quite easily stand aside from his Sorceress. I must say I wondered the issue too, but it's just Squall's way. Maybe it means he's a poorer Knight, but it simply isn't all he wants to be. He has his own dreams and for that I respect him. He wants more out of life than just standing by me. Aspiration lives inside him, a determination to follow his own path instead of just following me down mine.

Though I felt abandoned as a Sorceress by these confessions, I grew to admire the Knight I have. One whose loyalty is not wavering, but whose influence is never unnecessary. I feel his strength though I don't always see him and I trust him with my heart. I've stepped down to loving him as a friend and to be honest, I doubt my new man would like it much were I to insist that Squall stayed by my side at all times. Still, a girl has her dreams, you know? I still lustre after a Knight of the olden days. For all that I feel I've the strongest man alive as my Knight, I do sometimes wonder about whether he's a little distracted. A woman always likes to feel she's the centre of attention, after all. My, but it's a complicated issue. My overriding feeling is that the burden of his serving me would have obstructed what would have been essentially, a youthful relationship between two teenagers. Maybe we could have ironed out the creases, but sometimes I think we're better off as we are. At least I know he won't leave me for a younger, prettier Sorceress.

I worry about the Knights, though.

I mean, Squall was a gentleman about the shock revelation. He assured me that there was simply no way it could be personal and that he thought I had a heart of gold. A beautiful woman, with unbelievable warmth and tenderness, he said, and that I'd make some man proud one day. And, he added, he was sorry that it couldn't be him. I guess when he put it like that; it would have been impolite to continue yelling at him. Especially seeing as he couldn't help it if he wanted to sleep with men. It wasn't like he woke up one morning and decided he'd like to spend his life dolling out blowjobs. So, he insisted, he'd really like to be my friend and he'd always be my Knight, but he couldn't give me anything more than that.

Ho hum.

I forgave him, as it happens. My anger cooled and I saw what I've outlined above. I came to accept, for the first time in my life, that not every dice lands in your favour. Sometimes you have to compromise, no matter how large your dream or how strong your determination. I wasn't losing everything, after all. There were still silver linings to be had.

Of course, being Squall, he then spoilt the effect nicely.

His reason, -for being homosexual-, he'd decided, was that he couldn't stand girls. It was if he'd repressed a hatred for females from an early age and only just found out how to unplug it. Girls irritated the fuck out of him. They talked for as long as their jaws would hold out about nothing at all and were even more obsessed with penis size than men were. Precious hours that could be spent fighting, polishing gunblades or sleeping were spent at shopping malls watching said girlfriend trying on zillions of identical dresses before inevitably choosing the one that would do the most damage to the man's credit card. They were neater naked, but there was something far more impressive about the angling of an aroused male. Plus, they were simpler to get off. Where women were concerned, there was no hour of the day that was not filled with whiny chatter and even when she was being made love to, she could not bring her voice box to a stop. This, well...I blushed and tried to counter but it was pointless. In my case, anyway. And though I'm no feminist, I felt obliged to stick up for my sex and after many hours of attempting to explain the female psyche to a bemused Squall, we'd both come to the conclusion that he was better off gay and I was better off finding a bloke who found chatterboxes endearing. Not that this meant we couldn't remain friends, we agreed and we parted on good terms. I'd never drag him shopping or gossip to him endlessly. In return, he'd never tell me that whatever man he took as his boyfriend was sexier than me, nor further wax lyrical about the weaknesses of my sex.

So, we have a fairly easy relationship now. I still fancy him rotten, of course, because he's too beautiful for words, but I'm losing the physical aspect of it. I'm getting to the stage where I want to ruffle his hair and tell him that the men must drool over him, rather than feeling an urge to tie him to my bed and drool over him myself. It's not been easy; I still sometimes pine for my lost Knight, but all in all, I relish what we have. Squall's a dedicated, down-to-earth guy with a viciously witty tongue a lot of the time, but an open mind and a good heart. No, he's not a proper Knight, but he'll do.

Still, I do worry about the Knights.

In line with this brotherly instinct I have going for Squall, his interest in Seifer alarms me. Whether it's an ongoing crush, I don't know, but I'm not sure those ashes have died out from his childhood. It's not that I don't understand it. I fell for Seifer once. He fit the bill in my campaign for a True Knight and when I think of the epitome of the word, Seifer Almasy is the image that fills my eyes. You can't find anybody more dedicated or with a vaster, more passionate loyalty than Seifer. He would walk to the ends of the earth and back again if his Sorceress so desired; we saw that first-hand in the War. He sees Knightship as more than a job; it is a role. Seifer gives himself over to it, places his entire being within its margins and will not allow himself to be distracted from it for a millisecond. Brainwashed or not, his dedication spoke volumes and had I had more sense, I'd have gone for him instead of Squall.

Still, that doesn't mean it was a senseless decision to avoid leaping into bed with him. Contrary to popular belief, I never slept with him. Came close, but no cigar. Nope, Seifer is not the sort of person with whom it is a good idea to become romantically involved. He is without doubt an amazing Knight, but as a boyfriend, he verges on terrifying. He has too much strength, too much fervour and heat and for most women, I fear he is too much. You need immense strength to be considered his equal and even then, he may choose to treat you with disdain. You must earn his affections, as he is not a gentleman and will speak his mind clearly whether you're his girlfriend or otherwise. He certainly isn't romantic. Headstrong, passionate and brazen; that's Seifer. The whisper of sweet nothings doesn't even come into it. He treats his women like he treats his friends; callously, though with a thick dousing of his passion if you're close enough. Only for his Sorceress can he be truly tender and full of sentimentality. Otherwise, he is dangerous to get involved with on any other level than hatred. And certainly, I do not wish for Squall to fall into his sharp clutches.

Everyone around here knows that Squall's changed.

He became so much stronger after Ultimecia died her dramatic death. It was as if he fed from her dying blood and used it to build himself. Maybe it was just that the responsibility of saving the world was finally lifted from his shoulders, and he had room to manoeuvre where duty was concerned. During Ultimecia's year, he'd come too far to back out. After it ended, he had a chance to be what he wanted and to do as he pleased. He had time to live. He began to grow as a normal human being does, rather than with the forced haste that is typical of a young SeeD. Squall, without doubt, is a hundred times stronger in a mind than he was a year ago. He's got the job he wants, he's got the life he craves and he's happy. It's made the world of difference. But still, it's not to say that elements of the old Squall don't lie dormant under the surface.

Sure, he's more social now; he's had to learn to be. That doesn't mean he doesn't want to hide at times, behind a cold '...whatever' or a frosty silence. It doesn't mean he doesn't feel the urge to run away from responsibility at times. Not accepting the Headmaster role doesn't mean he lost the tendency to work himself to the bone without eating or sleeping. Being a Foreign Ambassador doesn't override his old habits; keeping emotions locked inside, getting down at times and refusing to share burdens with the others. He's got better but he's not over it all yet. He's replaced his coldness with an acidic tongue, gained a bit of confidence with his friends and made known to those around him that he cares for them, but sometimes all you need to do is look at him to see the young Squall. The vulnerable one, the one who was frightened, unsteady and unsure. He still doubts himself and gets down. It's just less frequent nowadays, but still...

He's too precious for Seifer and he's certainly not strong enough for him. Seifer is one hell of a bonfire and Squall...even his fields and fields of ice are no match for what Seifer could unleash upon him given half a chance. Squall needs someone to love him, not someone to scorn him with passion and disdain alike and leave him empty in the mornings. He needs strong arms around him, someone to tell him that it's going to be okay, not someone to add to his problems. He needs more than lust, in my opinion. Seifer is better off with Fujin; someone who can put up with his fireworks. Not Squall. Squall is vulnerable, even weak at times and very much a battered individual. He's in the process of healing himself; the last thing he needs is to get involved with someone as destructive as Seifer. I don't want to see Squall so burnt.

My feelings about Seifer are entirely mixed. On the one side, I admire all that he is; the red-hot, passionate, dominating and strong-headed young man who can bring the world to your feet. On the other, he is too dangerous, altogether too hot and cruel for those I love. Much as I'd have liked him as a Knight, I can't stand the thought of him near my friends. Maybe I could have handled him. Given time, I could have been the Sorceress he loved and maybe I would have been happy, but that's not so for Squall. Squall is not his Sorceress. Squall would be treated the same as all others Seifer has fucked; shown a wealth of brazen fervour until he became bored, and then thrown out to the trash. I know Seifer. He has never loved Squall and he's not about to start now.

It's no secret that I don't want Squall going out to him, to attend to whatever whim is going on in Seifer's selfish little head. But then, it all comes back to the same old problem I've been waxing so lyrical about. I'm Squall's Sorceress, not his girlfriend. I'm just the woman with the magic powers and not, it seems, the woman with the magic touch.

So what do I matter?

--- 


	6. Intermission

Autumn Intermission -Emerald-

"I was central,  
I had control,  
I lost my head,  
I need this,  
It's crazy what you could have had,  
Crazy what you could have had,  
I need it, I, I... need this"  
REM, Country Feedback

I can feel him pressing down with all of his weight. All of his beautiful, welcome weight and every little kiss and nibble that comes with it. The sand flutters into my hair as I toss my head back, enjoying the sensation of the ocean spray over my bare skin. My eyes notice that the sky is dark with thunderclouds before I hear that low chuckle, the one he does when he's amused and trying not to show it. That deep, guttural sound that I adore. The one that makes my whole body tingle. I hear myself utter a pleading noise, as if I am dying. I feel as though I am.

"You never did have any patience, Leonhart." He says; voice husky and sensual. I make eye contact, my eyes blazing with fury at the way he teases me by prolonging this. I despise myself for wanting him so damn much, for letting him know far more than his ego can cope with. He can feel quite easily how hard I am and one look into my eyes will tell him that I'm on the verge of begging for it. I hate begging.

"And you never played fair." I growl as a response, tugging the fingers of my left hand through his ruffled hair with a fair force and all but dragging his lips to my skin. Unimpressed with my lead, he stalls; hovers somewhere about my navel. I growl through my teeth again, scrunching at handfuls of sand with my right, outstretched hand. His eyes flicker up at me with a sardonic, wicked gleam. The sadistic little asshole.

I'd kill him, but then where would I be? Left high and...well, not so dry.

For a moment or so, I disappear into those scorching emerald eyes, mesmerized by their fire and their desire. His face has been taken over by his need and he tries to hide it, equalling both my maximum effort and my limited success. We are both losing this battle and we will go down together. Gladly.

"What would have been the point?" He husks, lips brushing against the flat of my stomach as he spoke. "You wouldn't have gotten angry."

I run firm hands down the back of his neck and purr softly, letting them slide onto his shoulders as I relax into his touch. "Kink." I mutter accusingly.

"Oh, you burn me." He retorts sarcastically. "Put your...back into it, why don't you?" There is yet more of that characteristic smirking and I feel like rolling him over, yanking his legs apart and fucking him until he passes out. Apart from the fact that he's a hell of a lot stronger than me and I'd quite like to see 20. I also happen to like submission; especially to him. Narrowing my eyes at him, I slowly oblige, raising up my hips so that his mouth can slide over my skin down to where I wanted it most. He chuckles again, grabbing the small of my back with strong hands to support me.

"You're absolutely gagging for it." He says in admiration, breathing hot air down onto my groin with obviously dangerous consequences.

I glare at him. Really, really glare. As much as I could whilst trying not to think about how aroused I am, anyway. "I am aware of that, thanks. If you'd like to do something about it, today, I'd really be very grateful."

"I think I'd better." He muses, licking his lips like a predator. "Else you might explode. And I don't think Garden would like that too much."

"Don't make out," I gasp, as he dips his tongue into my groin and traces the sharp lines of my hipbones, moving down to where I most need contact. "that you're doing this for dear Quistis."

"Ah..." He breathes. "I was wondering who'd replace Cid after Garden finally realised he's about as useful as a Caterchapillar. Quisty, huh? Makes sense."

"Talk later." I instruct him coldly. "I don't want to be thinking about Quistis whilst you're sucking me off, thanks." I hear him laugh, or rather, feel it; the heavy weight of hot air all over sensitive skin. I shiver with delicious anticipation.

"And who says that's going to happen?" He asks sweetly, still making an effort to avoid touching where I most want him to place his lips. There's only a limit to my patience, you know, before I get seriously violent. Sure, I'd have to finish myself off if I killed him, but sometimes it's worth getting sores on your palms. Times when you can shut up Seifer Almasy, for instance. Still, I do have other ways of getting what I want from people.

With a smile as sugary as his voice, I take the rugged planes of his face in both my hands. Tilting his chin upwards so that I can catch his eye, I give him a lustful, seductive look. A slow, slightly sadistic smile crosses his face and I raise one thumb close to his parted, moist red lips. He's no better at hiding his desire than I am, and he hastily goes to take my offering, mouth opening and an expression of content appearing in his hot green eyes. With lightning reactions, I jerk his head back between my legs and before he can even protest, fill his mouth.

"Me." I answer playfully.

I know his struggles will only take up a few, brief seconds. I have rushed him by adopting foul play and he will not relish the notion of rewarding me for my tricks with a blowjob. But Seifer is still a young male and he will realise shortly that he likes the feel of me; full between his lips, and that I taste good. He will relent and allow me my prize, beginning to lick and suck. Still, for a tiny instant or two, I am afraid he will simply bite down. This is the danger of playing with Seifer; he has no qualms about painful payback. In the hope that I can woo him round to my way of thinking before he sinks his teeth into the most sensitive organ my body possesses, I let out a gratifying sigh, hinting at a louder moan. He shudders a little, as if relenting. I let my hands drop away from his skull slowly, cautiously, and throw my arms back over my head in a gesture of abandonment. Seifer can't resist somebody splayed out for him, open and ready. All inhibitions lost. Totally aroused and completely lost in desire. TThunder rumbles quietly in the far distance and although he knows how aroused I am, in the tangible electric taste to the air I can't resist a playful shiver. I am the perfect picture of groaning, sighing submission.

I knew he'd fall for it.

I punctuate my gestures with little moans and gasps, telling him all the time how much he is satisfying me; stroking his ego. It's all genuine, given that he's kept me on the edge so long. It feels absolutely heavenly and it is easy for me to express the intense pleasure that comes to me so naturally. He seems at last content with the turn the situation has taken, giving in to his own desires as much as mine. Holding his hands under my back to support me as I lean backwards, he gives it everything he's got and I find myself going dizzy. He has one hell of a mouth, has Seifer. Probably had plenty of practice with his tongue, but Hyne, does he know what he's doing with it. I swear he could find a needle in a haystack with it.

I soon realise that my position isn't ideal. All the blood going to my head as I tilt back is making my vision all the more blurred and I am starting to lose the concept of gravity. All I can feel is Seifer dragging orgasm out of my with a strong, powerful tongue lashing and every time I feel just about ready to give into him, he changes direction so that I cannot. I have to reacquaint myself with new levels of passion building, fresh rhythms and sensations, before I can lose myself again. He is enjoying awakening me over and over from my arousal, so that he prolong me just a little longer. So typical; he must be in pain by now and he's still teasing me. The man has some serious sadism issues.

"Take your time." I murmur sarcastically, my breath being torn out in rags. He drags his lips away from my arousal to respond and a near-scream escapes me at the neglect. The cold air is sharp on my skin and I know I am about to beg. There is only so much my body can take of this and I'm already nearly in agony from his teasing. I am wound tight like a spring, almost as if a cramp is beginning, and all I wish for is to be released. Enough torment, already!

"You'll thank me for this, afterward." He smirks, almost reading my mind. Yet when he looks at my desperate expression, something in his face changes and he knows he has pushed me far enough. Seifer can only be heartless up to a point, and even he isn't cruel enough to leave a man hanging when his need is this great. He returns to his former position without a word, seemingly intent on making the statement come true. I lie back with a ragged groan and harshly scrape at his hair. It ended up that this pause was the major cause of my tipping the edge soon after. It felt as if the minute I felt Seifer's soft, searching lips surround me and his supple tongue restart its caresses, I had fallen. My vision went completely black, something exploded to the point of pain in my head and I made a noise fit as that of a banshee. A true shriek. Seifer seemed delighted as he settled between my legs, head resting on my bare stomach; now contracting and moist.

"Ghr-nuh..." I finally say. Not exactly what I'd call eloquent, but he is pleased with it all the same.

"I'll say." He agrees, making himself comfortable with a sigh. It is as if he has just come, in an eruption of both light and sound, rather than me. Funny. I never had Seifer pinned for a particularly considerate fuck, especially given his delight in torturing me. Such genuine contentment when it is me that has been satisfied is somewhat strange to see and I timidly begin to twirl the strands of his light hair through my fingers. It becomes more difficult as drowsiness begins to set in and I start to fall to an inevitable sleep, hand coming to rest in the midst of his blonde hair. The sand feels warm against my bare back and though naked, I feel completely comfortable as I drift off. The last thing I remember is the sound of his whispering my name before allowing himself a pleased chuckle at the sight of me so completely worn out. Then, as the cliché so often goes, there was blackness.

I woke again some forty minutes later, or thereabouts. The post-orgasmic slumber never lasts long for me, and besides, the shock of the water forces me back into the real world. Evidently the tide had decided to put in her appearance whilst I had been out of it and the pair of us are soaked from the waists down. I look down to see Seifer curled up against me, head still using my stomach as a pillow and from his motionless state, it appears that he has succumbed to sleep as well. His eyes are closed, set in a frown and a discontented look is on his sleeping face. All it takes is a gentle push of his shoulder and he is awake with a disgruntled groan. Green eyes open with a furious expression as he immediately senses the freezing water that has engulfed him and he looks at me in an accusing sort of fashion. I laugh, can't help myself. There's something about an aggravated Seifer that has always amused me; perhaps the childish expression his face takes on as he grumbles, or the endearing way he glares that he believes is threatening. It's no more than mildly scary, even for the youngest of SeeD cadets. And so, I can't resist a little laugh at the expense of Seifer Almasy.

Except that this doesn't seem to be Seifer Almasy, anymore.

Dragging himself to his feet, he kicks at the sand with an expression of true hatred in his eyes. I look up at him from my position, curled up in the sand and even I can sense the fear in my gaze. He has changed; anger has taken him, bitterness and rage. It is the look that he would give an enemy. Not me. I am suddenly horribly aware of my own nudity, reaching out a hand so that he can help me up. Instantly, he slaps it away. I feel my eyes widen and then I blink in shock. He looks at me with such unbridled hurt and fury that I slowly drop the extension of my arm, feeling tightness in my chest. I haven't cried in so long, but it is tempting now. Why does he look at me with such disgust...? My old ally, my childhood friend...?

"Seifer?" I ask cautiously, wondering why in Hyne's name I should have to hear his identity confirmed when this man is so clearly him. The trench still sits on his shoulders, that grey coat that was always too big for him and yet made the maverick look strangely authoritative. He still wears the same black cargo pants; the same steel-toed boots are on his size 9 feet. The mark from Lionheart glares red from his forehead. Green eyes glitter. This can be nobody but Seifer Almasy. But the tension in every limb of his body, the undisguised, raw look of repulsion on his face; that is not the 19 year old man that I know so well. That is not the Seifer with whom I grew up. Of course, one could argue that neither is the man who was not so long ago giving me head on a public beach, but I digress. His passion is a face I am far more familiar with than his hatred.

The water rushes in about my feet, covering my back almost to my shoulders. There is thunder in the distance. I sit still, letting the icy waters to cover my bare flesh, allowing myself one indulgent wince. I feel Shiva stir a little in my mind. She is not junctioned, but her response to the liquid chill suggests that she would like to be. Looking at Seifer's face, I give it some serious consideration. He looks at me, wet and pathetic, with pure agony on his face. There is a moment's pause and he turns away from me. The sky is nearly black, casting him in a horrifically eerie light and darkness is all around him. I look into dark blue bodies of cloud, once innocent and now treacherous. They are heavy with water and are more like monsters up there now. Thunder rumbles on like a creature in deep pain, one who is hungry and tired and wretched. Certainly not a friendly beast. The air is taut with tension and I am aware of curling into myself even if I seem to have little control over the action. My gaze rests entirely on his back, the rise and fall of strong shoulders as he breathes. For a second, I feel it might be safe to stand, to creep close and to touch him. His gunblade is not with him and he is otherwise defenceless. He could not harm me. Yet, I am motionless. He has frightened me, something Seifer has rarely been capable of. I have always known him too well for his own good, and suddenly, I am calling into question 18 years of our knowing one another.

For a second, silence reigns as if he has ceased breathing. The clouds almost seem to stall mid-flight, the wind fails to howl and time appears to stop altogether. There is nothing but complete and utter stillness. A calm, before the storm breaks.

Almost as if his intuition has guided him, the scream that is emitted from his throat coincides with the thunderous outbreak of lightning from the sky. The scene is lit brilliantly with light, so much that I have to shade my eyes, but I feel myself scrambling back because I am frightened more of him. Arms outstretched, head raised to the rolling clouds above him, the howl seems to pierce the air, ringing with agony and tingling with rage. He has screamed because he knows not what else to do. He has screamed because he is trapped. He has screamed because it is all his heart desires to do. He is frightened. He is hollow. He is lonely. He can scream where he cannot form words to describe his own sorrow.

Oh, I understand it now. In a flash, I have caught up to him. I know everything. Every last segment of what he has gone through is bestowed upon me in that one shock of sound. I am with him. I feel, I know. I am swiftly on my feet, I am racing towards him. My body is freezing in the stormy air, but I don't care. All that matters is that I cannot hear him scream again. I don't want to hear such agony; I cannot bear to hear such vocal pain. I must not, I cannot. I throw my body around his back; I bury my face into his left shoulder. My arms reach out to grasp his, still extended at his sides. I am calling to him. I find myself crying out to him; words to tell him that I know, that I understand and that I want to help him. With superior strength he flings me off and turns to me with a look in his eyes that is not unlike the storm that rages above us.

I stumble, looking at him once more from the sandy ground. Tears stream down his face as he struggles to breathe. He flexes his arms outwards, trying to express what he already knows he cannot. He cries out into the storm; a ragged sound of intense pain and despair and I feel the slick gliding of my own tears down my cheeks. And right then, I know that I love him. It is coming to me as clearly as is the complete understanding of his suffering. It is as if I am travelling deep into myself, gathering every feeling that has ever inhabited me without my conscious knowledge. I know it all. It all makes sense now. I love him. He loves me. It is that simple. How could I not have known?

"Seifer!" I climb up quickly, and call to him over the crushing sound of thunder, the blinding force of the sea raging towards us. He is still, eyes tightly closed, body wracking with agony he cannot get out of him. His hands are curled into strong fists. His breath is forced. Tears make lines across his pain-wrecked features. Noiselessly, he puts his head back to catch the lashing rain. Water pours over his hair, soaking him instantly. His dark trench coat drips water all around him.

"Seifer!"

He looks back at me, eyes red and swollen. "What? The fuck, Squall, what? What is this?" He screams the words, a desperate tone that I have never heard before. It is as if he knows we do not have much time. He is distressed by urgency. My answer must be quickly offered.

"What is what? Us? This beach?"

"What have we become?" He howls into the wind.

"We have become nothing that we were not already." I try to reply calmly, hoping that some tranquillity may rub off on him. In actual fact, he seems more upset by it than he might might have been by distress.

"No!" He screams. "It has never been this way! What do you want from me?"

"Seifer, where are you?" I give over to my own fear, terrified of the unfamiliar being before me. "Where in this stranger are you?"

"I am Seifer! Seifer is this stranger, just waiting for a facet to be placed upon him by his new lover!" He spits the words, shaking as he sobs. I cannot describe how I feel; witnessing such immense pain on his face, in his limbs, in every particle of him. I want so desperately to put it right and I wish I knew what to say to this wild hurricane.

"What are you talking about?" I yell. "Who you are has never been about me!"

"Who am I, Squall? Am I your lover, after all? Am I your friend, your foe? Do you need me to be your Knight, or are you contented to have me as your lapdog?" He covers burning emerald eyes with one arm, trying to control the extent of his own rage and pain. "What is it that you need in me, Leonhart!"

"Seifer, I don't understand you!" He has been each of these to many, that I know. I know that he has been many times a lover, a friend and a foe. And of course, I am all too familiar with the rest. But his confusion between the lot baffles me. I do not know where we are going with this and some part of me does not wish to. The sky is alight with the storm, a navy blue tinged with electric white. Rain pours down on my naked body, thunder trembles around us. There is noise everywhere and I long to escape. I am petrified. He is in agony. I pray for each to cease immediately. I need, I want...

"I have been everything and yet nothing, Squall! What should I be to you? Are you to be my Sorceress, to kiss me and to kill me? I don't know what you want me for! Who am I! You must tell me who I am!" He stretches his arms out again, lightning once more striking to emphasis those tortured howls. I sob silently, hands slicking my wet hair out of my eyes. I need, I want...

"Who you are to me? You are everything!" I howl back, throat becoming sore with the force of my own words. "You are as much me as I am you! You are my other half, my darkness, my light, my day and my night! You are Seifer, Seifer who I believed I knew until this bloody moment! You are my whole fucking life, Seifer!"

He closes his eyes briefly. Water runs down his face, a mixture of rain and tears. Pain contorts his beautiful features. I am silent, hurting, bleeding. Oh, but he closes his eyes so tightly. Emerald is shut off from me; as if light has gone out. His eyes comforted me always. A gentle green; a friendly, familiar colour that I adored. Ever since I was first comforted by his presence, I have found the colour relaxing. I have an emerald stone in my room in Balamb because of his bloody eyes, does he know that? And does he care? What has happened to me? To be so undone, so unravelled. But we both are. We both stand, screaming pain and suffering at one another. It is the verbal equivalent to our gunblade battles, except that we are both off-guard. Neither of us can win. We will both lose. He gave me pleasure and now he gives me pain. It is balanced, it is equal. It is us. Nothing can exist without its opposite. We are opposites. We keep each other alive. Though we scream and howl, though the tears flow, we will survive. This night will end. And still, I find myself needing, wanting, that emerald stone. I need, I want...

He opens his eyes. I am blessed by the beauty of the green gaze he gives me. Emerald swims in a bath of tears. I am weary. We both are. I take a step forward, but get no further. The sky vibrates with thunder and a flash of electricity. He waits. He speaks in a tired, lonely old tone. And then, I wake up to a cold morning, all alone in my small bed in Balamb Garden; with a wet face and a dark heart.

"I can do nothing with that." He says.

--- 


	7. Chapter 5

Autumn Chapter 5

The train shudders into life and I let my palm fall from the cold glass window. Outside, Rinoa stands still; the figure of some dutiful wife, I suppose. She is motionless, hand raised sorrowfully, waving goodbye. Every inch of her stance gives out the correct messages; she loves me, she will miss me, my absence will trigger her heart into a deep aching at our painful separation. I am so tired. Can I wave back? I am just so tired.

What is wrong with me?

She adjusts her black dress almost absentmindedly as I turn in my seat to watch her disappear into the distance. Her dark eyes rise to meet my gaze, hands stalling as she slides them over her hips and hers is a look of blazing hope. She still wishes I was hers, I suddenly realise. Beyond all of this accepting bullshit, all of our midnight chats; a part of her still wants me inside her. She wants the whole shebang; Knight to protect her, Knight to screw her senseless. I'm just so tired...

What is wrong with her?

I smile almost sadly at her retreating figure, a tiny movement of my hand betraying any sadness I feel at leaving her behind. Was it only a year ago on that balcony, when she raised her hand and I felt so differently? Her finger pointed to the sky and I turned to her, smiling, loving; ready to take a kiss? 12 months ago, but oh, so many years. My heart is empty. Nothing is sinking in right now. Maybe I will miss her properly later, but now, I cannot think. I have no thoughts and yet I am saturated by them. Fuck's sake. I'm being like I was a year ago; all internal ramblings and little sense.

I'm just so...tired, right?

She is gone. The train has moved on too quickly and all I can see is greenery; fields filled with small animals, flowers and crops. Trees dot the horizon and the intense colour of the sky makes me squint and shade my eyes. It is a beautiful day, as Quistis would say. Small talk is her forte. How strange, that I am alone, as I had always craved to be and to fill the silence I am inventing the voices of my friends. Squall Leonhart, lonely? I know of a few people who would never believe in such a thing.

"Always hard, leaving such a pretty thing behind." A voice batters its way through my thoughts and I look up with surprise. It seems some busybody has taken a break from his morning newspaper in order to insert helpful inputs into my private life. A fine example of the reason that I hate travelling on public trains instead of in the usual SeeD carriage. Quistis did away with such luxuries, the bitch, saying that they make us easier targets. Better to blend into the crowd, apparently. Better to confer with idiots.

"Hm?" I murmur coldly, trying not to invite conversation. I don't want to talk about Rinoa. I am tired of talking about Rinoa. I am tired full-stop.

"That woman." He nods with a gentle smile. "The girl you waved to. Must be difficult to say goodbye to her."

"Probably." I mutter sardonically, rubbing my hands on my jeans and gazing out of the window.

"I mean, you'll miss her. I can tell, youthful love..." He sighs dreamily. "Aah, I remember it well..."

I try to resist the urge to sink Lionheart into his skull. She lies temptingly by my side, yet I resist. "We're not in love."

"...and denial wasn't usually a part of it." He muses. "Unless your parents were involved, in which case, it was always 'no'. No, mother, I don't have a boyfriend. No, dad, we're not having sex. No, mum, of course I'm not pregnant."

"Listen." I say sharply, rubbing my forehead with exhaustion. "We're not in love, we're not having sex. Alright?"

"Yes, that's exactly the attitude I'm talking about. I'm not your father...I hope!" Guffawing laughter. "No need to play it veiled with me."

I've had enough. I force myself to resist the cheap comment that the conversation is indeed like one I might have with Laguna and sigh noisily. I can take this shit from Selphie, but not some interfering stranger who knows nothing about me except that I was part of the SeeD force that defeated Ultimecia. Not from someone who thinks that that means I'm easy meat for a bit of a teasing chin-wag.

"Do you have a son?" I ask innocently.

"Mm, I do. He's exactly like this about his girlfriend. It's all 'nooo, Dad, condoms? What on earth for?' Lying hound."

"...I'd be far more interested in fucking him than that woman I left behind, do you understand?" I ask pointedly, watching him intently for a reaction. His eyes widen so far I wonder if they're going to engulf his entire head. There is a long, blissful silence before he decides that the next stop is his. He leaves with a frantic haste and whether the point of departure is actually his or not, I haven't a clue. All that matters is that I am left wonderfully alone once more. And so, so tired.

It doesn't take ten minutes for the guilt to set in. I'm a heartless bastard at times. The man was probably only trying to be friendly, in a rude and unwanted sort of way. I used to have the same callous manner with Cid, as I recall. How much have I changed, after all? In some ways, I've come on, but in others...I feel I've gone backwards. Or maybe I'm just tired. Perhaps it's as simple as my lack of sleep. Had I had my usual 8 hours, I'd have been right as rain and probably indulged in some decent conversation with the old git.

Yeah, that's right.

I take a pitying sip of my instant coffee, bought at the station and burning my hands. My gloves are in my jacket, I don't always wear them anymore. I like the feel of scalding coffee. Stops me falling asleep, at any rate. Oh, by Gods do I hate insomnia. I'd prefer to battle Ultimecia every remaining day of my life than spend every night lying awake and exhausted. It's all his fucking fault. Quistis' words suddenly come back to me at this morning's briefing:

"Detach, Squall. Don't think of him as Seifer. He's a terrorist now, clean and simple. He's your target. You may have to kill him. Forget all you know about him, sever all that you feel about him. You must be cold and empty towards him. He is the enemy, remember?"

Easy for her to say. I know me and Seifer had our fights but in a curious way, I've always held a torch for him. I'm not asking her to kill Rinoa or Selphie. It's the same, isn't it? Seifer may have been on the opposite side, but I could never hate him. He was still my friend, even if he didn't know nor understand what he was trying to do to me. That's why it's like asking Quistis to kill a friend of hers, demanding that she just detach and shoot. Suddenly, I feel for Irvine; sitting in that hidden crevice, gun aimed perfectly to execute the killing of our Matron. It's not fair, how can it be? Maybe I feel too much now; gone from one extreme to the other. It used to be so easy for me, so straightforward. Aim, kill. Aim, kill. Now, I've got feelings mixed up in it all and it's like there's a knot in my brain that I just can't find.

It's still Seifer's fault that I can't sleep, though. Well, indirectly. I suppose I don't have insomnia so much as persistent, horrific nightmares that keep me from going back to sleep. Last night's was a beauty. I lean my head against the cold pane of glass and watch my breath cloud its surface. So, the part where Seifer gave me head wasn't exactly of nightmarish proportions and neither was it a particularly infrequent dream. I'm a teenage guy, for Hyne's sakes. He has the kind of mouth that could provide great head, so shoot me. No, it was the rest that spooked me. The thunder, the nakedness and the screaming. All of it left me feeling so open, so exposed. It was as if he'd raped me. Like he'd got into my head without asking my permission to be there, like he'd stripped me bare; leaving on show every thought I'd ever had as he devoured them all like an viper swallows its prey.

Not exactly a pleasant sort of feeling.

He so rarely showed me any kind of suffering. Those kinds of emotions he kept locked somewhere within himself, far away from the prying eyes of those who assumed that he didn't know how to hurt. So often it happens with those who torture that we are engulfed by our disgust, and we forget that they can be tortured themselves. Seifer let them forget. He didn't want anyone to be distracted from the wisecracks, the insults and the one-upmanship that made him feel so strong. He didn't want their attention diverted from that onto feeling sorry for him. Pity was never something he took well; it dented his pride, hurt his esteem, brought him down and made him small. Seifer preferred to be seen as the playground bully than the poor child with the shitty circumstances. At least being feared, being spat on, that gave him an existence. It made people feel something for him, allowed him to get under their skins, rather than being the ghost that everyone focussed their sorrow on but didn't feel.

Maybe he was a bit screwed. Maybe we both were. I'd have done anything to be a ghost, to be ignored and to go unseen. He would have done anything to be me; valued, doted upon, worshipped. He was always Screwy Seifer, and he hated it. I was always Heroic Squall and...well, hate isn't a strong enough word. Hyne, what a pair. There's just so much we haven't explored yet. I think that's the bottom line of that nightmare. We've spent our lives together, but when it comes down to it, we don't know shit about each other. I want to know more. I understand the others too well, but Seifer remains an unchartered mystery. Some of it I've discovered and held close to me like precious stones, but most of it is guesswork, assumptions. I don't want to stand on such unsteady territory anymore. I want to understand. I want to know it all. I knew it all in the dream, didn't I? Yet I knew nothing. In one moment, I held all the keys, I understood every particle of him as if each was my own, but then it all vanished into dust and he changed. I was in the dark again. Such a strange dream and yet there seems to be logic within it. Logic that I can use for the future. Oh, yes. I want to understand him as I did for that fleeting second. I want to know it all.

And then, I remember. I'm not being sent out there to get acquainted with the inner workings of Seifer's heart. My mission is not to get into his brain. My objective, as always, is to work out whether he's a threat so that my Garden can choose to kill or not kill him. Oh, fucking great. Just for the record, this is precisely why I always argued that emotions were a waste of time. Fucking ironic. The minute I acknowledge my emotions, my professional life gets in the way of it and insists I have to kill the source of them. I can't exactly disobey my orders for a roll in the hay with Seifer, either, even if the opportunity does come up. That'd be a damn expensive fuck. One minute, happy as Larry, the next; all 3 Gardens under attack from new Sorceress and her army. Don't think 'Oops!' would quite cover that one.

Great. Bit of a dilemma, then. I take a long sip of coffee and pull a face as the solidifying remains hit the back of my throat. I swear that Balamb station makes the worst coffee in the world. Even Laguna can't surpass them in that respect and his coffee is dreadful. I sigh in a fashion that can definitely be accused of being over-dramatic. To get to know Seifer, or to detach completely? Quistis is right; I may end up having to kill him and if I've gotten acquainted to him, that isn't going to be a comfortable situation. But then, there are two options. If I ignore him and he's perfectly innocent, he's unlikely to forgive me for acting like a spy and going all professionally cold on him, so I've lost him as a friend. If I ignore him and he's guilty, and I kill him, I know that I'll regret not getting to know him before I lost him. Giving up that chance when I still had it. Fuck, fuck, and fuck.

And they say life's a blast.

This decision would have been a lot easier without that dream, mind. I had my professional head on yesterday; I was all up for a bit of recon, doing some research and then reporting back. It was a shock that it was Seifer, but my thoughts were instantly sizing up the mission and whether I was capable of it. Now, they're far too focussed on sorting my feelings for Seifer to even think of what I have to do once I arrive in Esthar. I'm back to being a human being, rather than a stone-cold SeeD and investigator. The two sides of me don't sit well on my shoulders and I never truly know which is best to adhere to. Usually, I keep them as far apart as possible, so as to avoid having to choose between them. Today, it's inescapable. I have, checking my watch, just over an hour to decide on a course that might well affect the rest of my life.

Happy hunting, Squall Leonhart.

---

At some point during my lengthy analysis of the merits of both professionalism and hot green eyes, I realised with a sudden start that the pleasant green scenery had altered to grotesque lime building work. This of course, could only mean that I had arrived in Esthar; land of luminous technology, where the streets hum with a kind of blinking electricity. Personally, I despise the place. There's something phony about it that irks me, something man-made and thick with starch. The lack of nature around the place makes me feel suffocated; it's like living on Pluto. Nonetheless, I try not to be too disgruntled to the staff in the train station as I disembark, choosing to feel sorry for them for having to live in this neon city. I see recognition on their faces as I pass them; in the slight nodding of heads, the flash of remembrance to eyes. It's a reaction I'm far too used to for my liking. What I wouldn't give to have someone fail to identify me as Squall Leonhart.

I step out into the merciless world of Esthar and feel the urge, ever familiar, to cover my eyes. Every time I come here, I swear the buildings get just that little bit brighter. I can understand why my father would enjoy living in this artificial universe, such is his childish joy at all things mechanical, but Seifer being here doesn't fit. He never liked storms, true enough, but he was addicted to other aspects of nature; the sea, the cycle of the sun and the rejuvenation of fresh, uncluttered air. I can only assume that he's here because he has to be. Trudging through the city streets, I try to collect the loose ends of my thoughts and decide what to do whilst I still have time. I've rarely had this feeling of being so unmade, and I wish I could damn him for the effect he has on me. I'm not a child, or a lovesick teenager and I resent him for making me feel I have to remind myself of that. Rinoa thinks I should give my heart a break; that everyone has to fall in love sometimes and I shouldn't be so strict and critical of myself. Rinoa doesn't understand what it's like to be man, I think. Hearts has never been what Seifer and I are about. It's always been a blazing, magnetic pull of dark lust; blood, scars, heat. It's not coffee and cake in an Italian cafe, it's...far too much male strength and a dogged refusal to admit that the crashing of blades could be anything other than straight out, burning hatred.

Not for the first time, I set my thoughts on how it is going to be when he opens that door to me. The very first time he's seen me, his villain, in a year; how is he going to respond? Perhaps this is nothing but the work of the dream. Yesterday, I would have said keenly that I know Seifer and that most likely, he would not kick me from his doorstep but glower darkly, smirk and invite me in for tea and barbed insults. Now I'm not all that sure, but it has to be the nightmare that's making me question everything. It was nothing but a mere sleeping illusion. A hormonal, senseless dream. I tell myself that worrying for nothing is what I'm doing as I listen to the dull drill of my boots hitting the white pavestones beneath me. No doubt Seifer will be as he has always been; a fireball in my face to tempt and taunt and annoy the living fuck out of me. Just as always. And I will respond with ice and strained tranquillity, trying to hide it when his words reach me, only for him to see directly through the veil. Maybe Quistis is right; this isn't a straight choice between emotions and the mission, I can have both. As long as I keep to my own little cold, untouchable ways, I can feel for Seifer and kill him in the same moment.

The buzz of the streets around me fails to intrude upon my thoughts; I am used to it already. It has my father's way about it; this insistent, consistent low hum that is cheerful and yet droning simultaneously. I am used to hearing others talk to fill my silence. Constant chatter around me is something I have learned to block out entirely and my inner monologue remains uninterrupted. It's at times like this that I emphasize with the seventeen year-old I was, understand him where others cannot. My life then was far safer, or indeed my heart was. I cannot say that I enjoyed myself more then, but it's easier said than done to stop myself becoming him again when the going gets tough. As if there were two sides of me; ridiculous, I scold myself. You're one person only, Squall, don't be greedy. One is bad enough as it is. I snort under my breath and keep moving, glancing occasionally at the small piece of lined paper in my pocket that holds the key to Seifer's location. I don't know all that much about Esthar, apart from its hideously designed architecture, but I do know that the location mentioned in Quistis' neatly printed directions is not amongst the upper crust of residences. Not that that surprises me what with him being an official war criminal. I am, however, unprepared for the sight of the building itself.

Prison might be a more welcoming place for a home than this apartment block.

Even for Esthar, the wild mixture of blue and grey that covers the surface of brick is nauseating; flaking as it is to reveal and underlay of dull salmon. It is a conventional layout; not as high as other buildings around it, and with about 10 floors. From the slim width of the building, I presume that each flat is pushing the boundaries of the word 'small' and from a simple glance, I note that about 40 per cent of the windows are splintered or smashed. I whistle through my teeth, hand flexing on the outer door handle; waiting as if I expect to wake up. Unsurprisingly, nothing happens and with a shake of my head, I go inside. Flashing my eyes over the list of call buttons just inside the lobby, I take in nine other ordinary names, names that would not stand out but for the fact that they are not the one I am looking for. Then, I spot him. 'S.A.', the only one without his full name down. I cannot say I'm surprised; it would be like advertising for punishment. I wait a moment, trying to capture it, before I press the button. What I am pausing for, I don't know, but it feels as if I'm about to make a monstrous life change with this one, simple movement and thus, I feel I should wait. Don't assume that all thinkers are intellectual; I muse a hell of a lot of bollocks, mostly. Finally, with irritation at myself, I stab the little white button and await a response; heart pounding hotly against my ribs as if I am in battle. Forcing myself to take two long, very deep breaths, I relish the feeling of calmness that washes over me until it is shattered by the broad, brazen tones of Seifer Almasy:

All eloquence clearly intact, he drawls gruffly, "Who the hell are you and what the fuck do you want?"

Touché.

--- 


	8. Chapter 6

Autumn Chapter 6

I recognise the smooth, clipped tone as soon as he said the first word. Not a stalling stammer or a flustered cough that so many of my intruders seem to think necessary, but a simple,

"I'll leave that up to you."

Raising one eyebrow, I stare at the receiver with a twinge in my stomach. It's been so long since I heard the melodious sound of his submission. I laugh, can't help it. Stabbing the button beside the phone, still chuckling to myself, I imagine his irritated frown. He never did understand my jokes.

"Come on up, then. If you dare." Snickering at my own ridiculousness, I listen to the dull hum subside as Squall enters the building, no doubt turning around and around in that perplexed way of his; the one he does when he's pretending not to be perplexed at all. I think he hopes people will assume it's investigation rather than straight-up confusion, but it never fooled me. Squall isn't a Sorceress, after all and it seems that only they have any kind of convincing hold over me. No, I know exactly why he's here. Wouldn't take a hero of the world to figure out that little brainteaser. With all the fuss I've been causing, I somehow doubt that this little visit is a courteous call. Briefly, I ponder putting arsenic in his tea and laugh a little more at the thought. He's probably immune, after all. Not that the thought isn't tempting. If I'm going to be persecuted by Balamb's little choirboy for loyalty to a deserving woman, Rinoa Heartilly no less, then I'm happy to call it self-defence. Running my eyes over the sparse apartment to check for obvious signs of my traitorous behaviour, I decide on a course of action. If he lies about his reason for coming to see me, his tea gets it. If not, it's his lucky day.

I laugh even more when I realise that I don't even have the poison to do it.

The sharp knock on the door startles me from my vicious reverie and I swagger over to let him into my ordinary world. The sound of my heavy steps against the floorboards might frighten a weaker man, but I don't hold a hope that they'll unnerve Squall. Still, the expression that greets me when I swing open the heavy, red wood of the door suggests that I might have dashed my fortunes all too soon. A pair of wide, grey eyes stares me full in the face with just the slightest edge of trepidation. I smirk, lapping it up; it takes me back. A time when I had Hyperion in my hand beckons me back, when I was poised to strike that pretty little face and those eyes were open and terrified. The scar matches mine still; a faint, grey line with the tingeing of angry pink. Humour rises in my stomach as I imagine that the flushed forehead means that he's been rubbing the mark.

"Home sweet home," I joke darkly, loosely flexing my hand on the door handle. "Not the Presidential Palace that I'm sure you're used to, but you're welcome to come in just for the experience of being in a home with only one bathroom."

He scowls momentarily, the old Squall rising to the surface for a second before he replaces the expression with something more neutral. His cold professionalism is now a practised art and I am amused to see how far he has come with his repression in the months we've been apart. Eyes alter slowly from grey to a more vivid blue and he steps forward, chin raised and says,

"It's surreal to see you again. Surreal, in a good way."

I can't know what he's really thinking, and it irks me to see that the mask he's put on is even more impenetrable than the old one. There are only the tiniest hints; the air of challenge in the upturned face and the animated look in his eyes, that suggest to me that the coolness of his tone is forced. Yet I cannot know for sure, and I fucking hate that feeling. My eyes darken with sudden anger and I stare back at him,

"'Fuck's sake. Just come in, already. Cut the civility crap."

He follows me into the hallway with some reluctance, and though I can't read his mind I know that his eyes are darting all around him. The entrance to my flat is very claustrophobic; it's narrow corridor being the centrepiece of the layout. Each of the four rooms is entered via it through doors on each side of the corridor, and at the end of the hallway stands a storage cupboard. That makes up my joyful abode, and I sense that Squall is struck down with disbelief.

"Nice, ain't it?" I drawl, for the sake of filling the silence more than anything else. My sarcasm hits the air like a sharp, icy breeze and I shrug my shoulders as if to free myself from it. Too many years of anger just dying to get out. When I was young, my aggression found its words in deft blows to little Zell and later, Squall. Violence was my voice. In the last year, I've drowned in the tides of trapped rage. Yet I've held strong, knowing that my Sorceress will rescue me. She'll take me back to that bed of velvet and silk pulled tight over wrought ironwork, draping curtains of silver and gold, luxury and splendour and her, goddamnit; my pale, pure princess. I want to know about her; my beauty, my Rinoa.

"Seifer, you used the world to feed a horrific plan dreamt up by a lunatic from the future. Don't expect a life of luxury. Would you rather be dead?" He points out coldly, turning to me with a pained look. His temper is being restrained through effort alone and it seems he is not so skilled at keeping a handle on it as he used to be.

"You don't want the answer to that question, Squall, trust me." I answer, taking his coat from him and dismissing it onto the frame of a nearby, white wicker chair. I can feel his eyes boring into my back as I lay the dark fabric to rest and I shrug my shoulder blades, feeling the tension easing out from between the bones.

"Don't flatter yourself thinking that I'd be cut up if you killed yourself," He quips darkly, his voice weary and fading into the airy hallway. "I've spent years expecting it to happen."

Walking through the nearest door on my left, I nod towards one of the chairs in my living room and he sits down dully, as if he no longer had any feeling in his body. My gaze rests on him for a moment before I sit opposite him; I study his tired figure, energized only by his anger but otherwise ghostly. Still, his was a statement that couldn't be left without a response.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Leonhart?" No point in beating around the bush. Nonetheless, I know what he's implying; that I'm weak, unreliable and unable to cope with existence. That I'd rather play the actor and come to a ridiculously tragic end than aspire to bravery, and like him, die in the heat of battling for the good of the universe. He's making jibes at my vulnerability, suggesting that I'm selfish, needy and melodramatic. I see through his words all too well and my face fixes into a hot frown, teeth almost bared.

"I couldn't have coped with all that you went through; I don't see how anybody could. All those years of being treated like shit, like you didn't matter; with everyone underestimating what you could do because you couldn't keep that mouth of yours under control. Never being recognised for the strong fighter that you are, always seen as the callous thickshit. I don't know how you kept taking failure on the chin, and then..."

"She made it all worthwhile." I finish for him, tone hard and unyielding. "And unlike some people, I never needed other people to support my view of myself. You think I'm worth something because I got through all of the baiting, the taunting? Squall, when you don't give a fuck what everyone else says, it becomes a game to ruffle other people's feathers. I wasn't crying in my room every night, I was laughing. Laughing so hard my lungs hurt."

"You're an idiot, Seifer." He says under his breath, shaking his head ever so slightly. Dark strands of hair fall into his eyes and he pulls them back, studying me with that intense gaze of his. "I don't want to fight about this, it doesn't matter anymore. The years are gone now."

"What happened, then? You loved our physical battles but you never enjoyed a good verbal spar. Language scared you, didn't it? I see you've at least made an effort to speak in sentences, but it's as if every word you say burns you. What's going on with you?"

"She made it all worthwhile, did she?" He responds quietly, eyes falling once more to the fading white carpet upon the floor. "What, when she made you kill innocent people, or when she tossed you out to the dogs when she'd fed from you enough?"

My eyes flare and I have to force myself not to leap from my seat opposite his and grasp his frail neck with my large, firm hands. What is the meaning behind this victimization? Haven't I suffered enough? Why do people treat me as though I'm nothing? Not for much longer. Rinoa and I will soon have the world spread between us, beneath us and all around us. Then, they'll be sorry; all these scrawny play soldiers from Balamb Garden will have to make me their King. I think I'll keep Squall as a foot servant.

"You know nothing about my Sorceress, Squall. Don't talk about her, because you haven't a fucking clue what it was like. You just stayed on the white side, throwing your merry band of men their cures and their auras and trying to stay alive. You never sat on the top of the world alongside the only woman you ever loved, feeling that bond singing through your skin and the magnetic pulse of magic. For fuck's sake, don't talk as if you know how that feels." I stretched myself out in the chair, trying to assume a position of nonchalance, but his eyes weren't on me anyway. He spoke in a whisper, or thereabouts.

"I don't know. I'm the only other person you know that's also a Knight. I do know what it's like to feel that bond, that invisible line that pulls you to your Sorceress and makes you do the craziest things. I felt in when I was in space, watching her dying inside that seal. I didn't need to be sleeping with her to love her, Seifer."

Just his talk of Rinoa gets under my skin. She couldn't possibly have had a more unappreciative Knight than Squall. I knew he was lukewarm at best, but this lack of interest in her needs makes me feel nauseous. How can he call himself one of us? I feel a surge of sympathy for her, my lady, knowing that she must be suffering under this indifference. A Sorceress needs passion and desires undivided attention from her powerful soul mate, and Squall's clearly wanting of these qualities. How she must be hurting, how she must be needing me...I will come to her soon, so very soon. I will tolerate him for now.

"How is Rinoa these days?" I change tack swiftly, ignoring the look of confusion that comes into his stormy eyes. I know, of course, how she is. I would not be her Knight if I didn't sense every inch of her alternating feelings. It will be interesting for me, though, to hear the story from an objective point of view. Squall has not the lust for her to see into her soul, so he stands removed enough to give me a new impression of my lady. Perhaps I can gain some knowledge into her public appearance these days, see how she's covering up the loss of her incompetent Knight. Still, I'm impressed to see some sort of emotion flicker across his face at my question; perhaps jealousy or protectiveness.

"Why?" He spits out, face tense and concentrated. A sudden shock courses through me as I realise the extent to his neglect of his Sorceress. As a Knight, he should of course be all too aware of his lady's actions. Especially, of course, if she's using her time to summon herself another Knight. If Squall isn't aware of what Rinoa is doing, and it does seem that way, then she's more alone that I thought. It's difficult to imagine that Squall could be that stupid, that utterly ignorant, but his answer was too innocent for me to believe that he suspects anything. So he's here because he knows I'm recruiting, even that I've been summoned, but he doesn't know that we're about to be sharing a Sorceress. Heh, this is going to be very amusing indeed. So...typical of Squall. This must be the first mistake he's ever made in his entire life, and what a hugely catastrophic one it's going to be, at that.

"Why not?" I respond defiantly, enjoying the brief flash of irritance that passes across his face at my childish retort. Some things, it would seem, do not change and it is as easy as it ever was to get Squall all riled up. I love a good argument, especially with the strong, silent type. Strange to think it, but it's people like Squall who go off like dynamite when they're annoyed. Heh, and Quistis thought I was hot-tempered. She never saw Squall in a snit.

He frowns. "Why are you interested? I thought you two were just a fling, a summer thing."

"She told you that?" I question with a soft laugh; best to keep things on a simple level. It's easy for Squall to believe that I'm asking of Rinoa out of a continuing lust for the raven beauty, rather than let slip to him that I'm about to help her conquer the globe. "Well, if that's what she calls it."

"Hn, I don't want to go into this. She's getting on fine, far as I can tell. If you want gossip about her, go and call Selphie."

If I were looking for signs of jealousy on his part, that would be a clear-cut example. His eyes glint with a gritted determination not to let my words get to him and his mouth is taut with the effort of holding back angry, hot words. I smirk, sensing the inferno forming in the pit of his stomach.

"Gossip? Squall, you should know better than that. What on earth would interest me about a few morsels of information about your sex life when you're here; ready and waiting to have it prodded out of you? Why ask Selphie nicely when I can force it out of you?" Cheekily, I wink at him, leaning over and resting my arms over my thighs and grinning at him with a wicked expression that I know he hates.

His frown changes from one of annoyance to something resembling genuine confusion and he blinks a few times before eloquently saying, "What?"

"Don't play the fucking dumbass; you know I'm better at it. You and Rinoa? Sorceress and Knight, bed sheets and sweat and the scent of sex? Come on, Squall. I'm a Knight; I know how the game works. You battle, she tosses you an aura and you win. You bed, she tosses you off and you win again."

To my complete surprise, he almost winces. Either he's a great actor, or there's more to this than I assumed. Could something, - shock, horror - have gone wrong between The Hero of The World and his beautiful Princess?

"And I thought Irvine was crude." He grimaces, looking up at me with clear eyes. His hands fidget together, elbows resting on his knees and I find my gaze continually distracted by the working of his fingers over each other.

"Now, now. Don't tell me that this wasn't how it worked. You've just come out of time compression thanks to your sweet darling and you're standing on the romantic balcony with all the stars flying above you, the gentle wind whipping up her hair. She's doing that smile, the one that made your knees weak at the celebration ball, the one that made you want to forget SeeD and run away with her into the forests and live like nymphs-"

"Seifer, for fuck's sake-"

"Shut up, you never wanted to speak this much before now. Let me finish. So, anyway. Tell me that you didn't just grab her by the waist and lean her over the balcony, that you didn't pull that darn hot little blue covering of hers open, hitch up her skirt and take her, right then and there?" My green eyes blaze at the thought of it; Sorceresses, believe it or not, are not porcelain dolls. Edea had a sexual appetite that even Irvine would be jealous of, and the rougher and dirtier she got her sex, the happier she was. Sometimes when I think of Rinoa, I can see her the same way. Dress undone, tits exposed, slits to her dress, smudged eyes and bright, scarlet lipstick. Of course, then there are my images of Squall in that sort of tousled, naked state, but that's quite another story.

He stares at me, a mixture of deadpan and horrified. "We're not together, Seifer. Never were, not really. Even if we were, I wouldn't have, you know well enough."

"No," I concede. "Wouldn't be very ladylike, would it?"

"You'd have to ask her boyfriend." He comments wryly. "Like I said, we're not involved. I'm sure she's probably not as innocent as most people think, but I'd rather not think of her that way. She's like my sister."

I can't resist sticking the knife in, my glee at the open opportunity to piss Squall off distracting me from the potentially disastrous revelation he has just made. "So you'd rather not visualise her, lying on a bed; satin sheets all around her, wearing...ooh, a corset. Definitely a corset. All black and tight, pushing her tits up, laced down the back, strands of ribbon falling over red satin. Breathing heavily, all that thick, black hair in her eyes...that wouldn't interest you, just a little?" I was fully prepared to snort if he denied it; the sheer idea was getting me hot enough. Not to mention to idea of Squall approaching her; in bare skin and tight, black leather, wet lips and blazing eyes.

He continued to stare at me, face relaxing almost into lazy amusement. I had the distinct feeling that he had a card up his sleeve; an announcement that could shock me far more than my descriptions of a hot-and-heavy Rinoa had affected him. Surely enough, I had predicted correctly and I couldn't help but raise both eyebrows as he responded,

"Not in the least, seeing as I'm gay."

"Interesting," I respond, after a pause. It makes sense, in a way. I did think, or perhaps it was my dirty little mind, that he might be bisexual. You know how it is; those glances in the shower room after training linger just a little while longer and there's a constant state of distraction as they meander through a minefield of choice. At least, that's how it is for me. I never could decide whether I fancied Squall or Rinoa more and I remember vaguely Squall being slightly too interested, though subtly, in us boys in the showers back then. I did think he liked girls, as well. Not because I ever saw him with one, but...well, I guess most teenage boys assume their peers to be as rabid as they are. At that age, it's impossible to believe that a normal guy wouldn't be interested in perky breasts and long, slender legs. Sometimes I think that most of what I know about Squall is based on adolescent assumptions and I don't like it.

"When did you know?"

"I didn't, Rinoa enlightened me. I just thought I was a freak." He says gruffly, a small, self-deprecating smile twitching the corner of his lips.

"Oh, you are." I respond lightly, smirking as he raises his eyes to my face. I expect a glare, perhaps a classic huff, but he does neither. Intriguingly, he just snorts softly and adds, with a shake of his head,

"Even more of one, then. She was right, though and I've accepted it. It's just sex. Anyway." He's stammering, probably feeling a bit embarrassed. It's strange, how far he's come; he's so fucking talkative. Well, relatively speaking. It's difficult to believe that he just said the word 'sex' out loud and I snicker with sardonic amusement. A new Squall, then. I realise that I'm looking forward to getting to know him whilst he is here trying to untie the knots in the great plan between Rinoa and I. Then, I realise with a start the implications of the comment he made before, and request of him with a sudden harsh tone,

"Rinoa has a boyfriend?"

--- 


	9. Chapter 7

Autumn Chapter 7

-1 week later-

I guess people rarely expect to hear that Squall Leonhart is failing his mission. Hyne, I've had enough problems admitting it to myself. I've stayed here, in this secluded little den of chaos, for the last six days yet I've come up with nothing. For all I thought that this mission would be easy, it turns out that Ultimecia was a walk in the park in comparison. Still, it doesn't seem to have been a week entirely wasted, not if I'm going to be selfish. I'm feeling better in my own head, less tired and more focussed and yet somehow more relaxed. I guess I never realised that I could be calmly on my guard before, instead of all strung up and tensely questioning everything. That's Seifer's doing. It's been an odd, but not unpleasant six days. In some ways, old times have been revisited; he still spends every waking minute trying to get a rise out of me but we laugh about it. I find amusement in the uptight, moody bastard I used to be. That's how we're creating new times together. He's not teaching me to get rid of my faults or to be ashamed of them, but to laugh at them. It's easier to forget about them that way as I'm not harbouring bad feelings about them. Seifer, to be honest, is the same as he ever was; confrontational, hot-headed and irrational, but I feel more comfortable dealing with him than I used to. I was never scared of him before, not really, but I did feel intimidated by him and that's now gone. I just let him do his own thing and watch him calm down afterwards. I think it's much easier for both of us. That said, he has been slightly more exaggerated in these characteristics than he was before the war. He's angrier, more confused and even more argumentative. He'll fly off the handle at the slightest provocation and sometimes for no reason at all, and I know that his paranoia is desperately trying to keep a secret from me. However friendly we've been over the last week, I'm still the enemy and he can't forget that.

What happened a few nights ago was a perfect example. It was evening and we'd not eaten all day. Neither of us could be bothered to cook, and besides, Seifer had barely anything worth the effort in his fridge. I'd called for a meal from a Chinese takeaway restaurant not two blocks from the apartment, and as they weren't doing deliveries that night, I offered to go and collect it. I figured that Seifer would probably end up in even more trouble venturing out into the busy night streets by confronting a vengeful, hungry population. I know that I wasn't supposed to leave him alone. Still, I figured that we have to balance the mission with our daily lives; being realistic, I can't let us both go hungry just so that I can monitor Seifer 24/7. I observe him every day for as long as I possibly can.. I mean, I can't watch him when I'm asleep, so a compromise has to be found at some point. I was only ever going to be five minutes away, not long enough for him to try anything. Of course, I soon discovered that however impractical my orders were, they were right. When I returned to the apartment, laden with hot, sticky plastic bags, Seifer had slammed down the receiver on the home phone in a flash as he sensed my presence. I stalled in the doorway watching him. Sure, it could have been a friend of his, but I knew all too well that he's a fairly unpopular guy in this city. The idea of him getting social calls was unlikely to say the least. A prank call might have been more convincing but for the look of guilt that swarmed his features and the surge of rage that flew to his eyes at my interruption. Then followed a flurry of furious words, all aimed at me; accusations of violation of privacy, of victimisation and my monitoring him, and claims that I was rude and disrespectful. The short of it was that if I ever walked in on his phone calls again, I would no longer be welcome in the flat. It was strange behaviour, at the very least and downright suspicious to boot. It made me even more certain that he was plotting something and that he didn't want me to discover it.

Apart from the professional hassles, it's been fun being with him again. My life, -much as I hate to admit it-, becomes dreary without his influence and I was glad of his company again, as much as I tried to proclaim otherwise. I'm still not ready to talk to him about how I feel, nor am I sure I ever will be. For now, I think it's safer to keep everything under wraps, just as he's doing. Then we can live in mutual disguise and dishonesty and we'll both be happily removed from one another. It's clear to me that I have to figure out something, though. Quistis is probably having a fit back in Garden over my silent absence, as I haven't updated her since I left. I've just been so busy fathoming Seifer out again that I suppose I forgot about my other world. There's something about him that makes me forget everyone else on the planet, but I know that it can't last. I have a job to do and soon, I'll have to get back to her with something concrete. Somehow, I doubt I can file a report explaining how Seifer walking around his apartment half-naked makes me hard and how much I want to jump him when he's asleep and get away with it, Squall Leonhart or not. No, I'm going to have to get my hands on some proper evidence and it really has to start with one person; Rinoa.

I don't know if I'd have thought of her at all, had Seifer not pushed so hard to find out about her life. I mean, she wasn't an obvious lead in this until he brought up the subject of her boyfriend, raging and fuming all over the shop. At first, I thought it was the typical jealousy act. When he was with Rinoa that summer before the War, he didn't love her but he came pretty close. He was there at the SeeD ball, under the pretence of helping the Forest Owls, trying to win her back. He told me that it cut him up seeing us dancing together, her so fluid in that beautiful, ivory number. I can see why he wanted her back, why his passion was so strong for her even if I didn't feel the same way. I remember not being able to understand why I couldn't fall for her; those doe eyes and the addictive, headstrong nature. When Seifer talked about her current flame, I just assumed he was angry at himself for letting her slip through his fingers so that another man could get his paws on her. It was only when I realised that he was going to extremes, -his voice so loud the walls trembled with its volume- that I began to look beyond the obvious. He stormed about for hours asking question after question; how close was the guy to her, did she see him often, were they in love, had they slept together? I stared at him blankly, fascinated by this red-hot whirlwind of energy, this fiery storm cloud. Eventually, he ran out of words and slumped down in the chair, dejected and irritated. I told him that I didn't know much and asked the origin of his fury. There was no answer, only a series of sighs followed by the firm declaration,

"But she is mine."

Only then did I think to question his speaking of Rinoa. I observed him with a few girls during our childhood, but only one ever summoned such a bold, binding statement from his lips; Edea, Ultimecia. His Sorceress. He spoke of Rinoa like he was a Knight again and alarm bells immediately sounded within me. Perhaps the assumption was simply me clutching at straws or my own urgent need to report back to Balamb-G, but the control freak in me wouldn't let the idea go. I consoled myself in the notion that it was too dangerous not to follow it up, Rinoa being a Sorceress and all, but inside it was probably more like brotherly protection that made me so antsy about the situation. I wasn't sure I liked the idea of Seifer serving Rinoa and when I contacted her, I discovered that Quistis felt the exact same way. Sort of.

"You cannot be serious." She says, deadpan. "First of all, and I'll gloss over your first misdemeanour, you neglect your duties for almost a week and leave me hanging. You abandoned me to try and keep negotiations going with two Gardens when you hadn't given me a single card to play! It was downright irresponsible Squall, but more than that, it was hurtful. You know I'm in a difficult position."

Before I can speak to defend myself or reassure her singed nerves, she has already moved on, "And then, when you do call, you come up with this insane idea that a member of our own group is the one behind it!"

"Quistis, please. This isn't helping anything. I've told you where I was and what I was doing and since my work was for the mission, I can't see that you've that much to complain about. I know I put you in a difficult situation but that is your job, that's what you fucking signed up for. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep an open mind about my job, given that I've been directly observing the subject for a week." I try to keep my voice level, but I can feel a headache starting.

"You have to expect that I'll be shocked, Squall. Accusing Rinoa, even for you, is downright traitorous."

"I never accused Rinoa. What I believe is that Seifer looks upon Rinoa as a Sorceress and seeing as we've had the reports that he's a Knight again, she'll have to be questioned. It's possible that she doesn't know about any of it, that her signals are being sent out unconsciously, or the whole thing might be just Seifer's intentions. Okay, it could also all turn out to be all my own imagination, but Quistis, how many times have you known me make a stupid error?"

"There's a first time for everything." She comments grouchily before relenting. "Alright, so you think he may be targeting her and she's the innocent party. I really doubt she'd do something like this deliberately, so you're probably right there. I'm not happy about the fact that this whole hypothesis is completely unsupported, but I suppose there's nothing that can be done about that. I just wish you'd told me sooner, Squall."

"I know." I say softly and genuinely I apologise. I guess sometimes we rub each other up the wrong way and she shouldn't take the cop for that from me. "She'll need questioned, all the same. I really think we're onto something here."

"I'll see it done. I have to say, though," She points out, audibly suppressing a yawn as she does so, "If you're right, I'll be intrigued to know just how he managed to respond to her call for a Knight, if she already has one."

With that, the phone clicks off and I am left staring at it, the words only just sinking in. I cannot believe that I failed to think of that sooner; how can Rinoa summon him if she already has me? Can a Sorceress have two Knights? Surely if the function of a Knight is to ground his Sorceress, then I should be sufficient? Quistis' remark was probably a barb about my inconsistency as Rinoa's Knight; I know she isn't happy with my rarely being present with Rinoa or our reliance telepathic communications, but the comment has made me think. Either there's something special about Rinoa's powers that gives her the ability to multi-summon, or Seifer's lying. I almost hope that Rinoa is his intended Sorceress; that way, the end to this disaster is clear, and I can go back home and forget Seifer Almasy and his flirtatious temptation ever existed.

---

Slowly, I traipse back into the apartment from the hallway; the only space in which it's possible to make a private phone call. Seifer's apartment is tiny to say the least; one bedroom, kitchen, living room and bathroom all placed alongside one another and accessed from the main, narrow corridor. Each of the four rooms feels like a cell in a prison, the doors like bars against a corridor on which only guards can walk. I somehow feel that it's a deliberate layout. Pausing at the first door on the left, -the kitchen-, I am stalled by the view of him. He sits at the small table at the far end of the room; a little circular thing with one wobbly leg. It is covered with papers strewn with his blue handwriting. Something dreadful begins to settle in my stomach. I can only have been away ten minutes or so, but what if I have missed something? Whether this mission looks simple or not, these papers look ominous and I start to think that I've been complacent. Mentally kicking myself, I try to gauge what it is that he's doing. Concentrating would be my first answer; a deep frown set on his face as he studies the sheets before him. His eyes are steady, firm and serious; that look he used to have when he and Hyperion were practising. It almost makes me smile. Then I notice the glasses, ones I've neither seen him wear nor known any reason for it. Seifer's eyes have always been perfect, as far as I'm aware. The frames are discreet, a light shade of titanium, but they look odd on his face all the same. I am not used to it and it unnerves me. As his character has changed since the War, so has his appearance and I don't like it.

He looks up gradually, jade eyes glittering with some kind of accomplishment. I only feel more nervous at the look on his face, knowing that I've somehow screwed up royally by watching him. I should have known not to take Seifer Almasy for granted, no matter what else I take him for.

"Squall." He says, voice rough yet not threatening. He seems pleased to see me. It is strange, considering I have crept up on him and intruded upon his business, as for the most part of the last week, he has shouted at me for these things. Now he smiles pleasantly and invitingly. I don't trust it.

"Seifer. What you doing?" I try to keep my voice light and unassuming, to gain access to these privacies gently rather than to alarm him or cause him to fly into yet another temper. Of course, he knows that I'm playing dumb.

"What does it look like, Leonhart?" He says playfully, shuffling a few A4 sheets. "I presume you have seen paperwork before, given that you're the..." He stalls for a moment, trying to remember my job title. "Ah well," He concedes, with a wave of his hand. "You're the Seify-spy, anyhow."

"I'm the Foreign Affairs Ambassador, Seif." I point out gently, stepping towards him timidly so that he will not be wildly provoked. I'm starting to learn how to handle the new Seifer, which almost feels like compensation for the old one that I ignored so brutally.

"Same thing to me." He admits with a grin, beckoning me closer with one finger. "I know that I'm the victim and you're the big, bad investigator just trying to get a sneaky peek into my life. Poor little me, so defenceless, so vulnerable..." He chuckles. "You're a bad boy."

I try very hard to ignore the enticing note to his tone and swallow harshly, staring at him. After I feel capable of speaking again, I say hoarsely,

"Seifer, I'm not a spy. I'm just here to look out for you, I've told you. There's no need to mock me."

"Mocking? Why do you accuse me thus?" He smirks, raising one eyebrow at his own feigned haughtiness. "I'm not mocking, you idiot. I was merely joking with you. Though I shouldn't, because facts are facts. You are spying on me, Leonhart, but you won't get a glimpse of what you're looking for. Not a single bit of flesh." He rests back on his chair, looking at me with challenge in his expression. It's the knowledge that his lustful taunts are getting to me, he's realising that I want him. I resist the urge to run away, relying on old skills to look blankly at him before continuing in a cool tone,

"If you're not going to believe me, there's no point in me arguing. I simply asked what you were doing, out of interest, as a friend. I don't need to point out that I'm the best you're going to get if you want social chit-chat, so I'll find somewhere else to be, shall I?" Turning away from him, I can feel his eyes boring into my back, acknowledging my retreat from his challenge. He is intrigued, but not offended. I expected fury, but am getting cold calculation and I cannot work it out.

"Who says I want friends?" He responds gruffly, before adding, "But point taken. Sit down, then. I'll forgive you, if I must."

Whereas before I might have told him to sod off, the mission is too important for such games and I sit down grudgingly. We stare each other out for a moment and then I feel compelled to ask, through no apparent reason at all,

"You talked to me like you used to speak to the girls just now. Why?"

"Oh, I get it." He says slowly, with a smug nod of his head. "You think I was flirting with you."

"No." I respond, all too quickly. He can see inside my thoughts and he knows too well that he's hit the buzzer right on the head. "Not at all."

"Well, I wasn't." He says, as if I hadn't even spoken. "Who'd want to? It's just an easy way of getting round you, Leonhart. It distracts you from the mission, from your spy operations. Makes you go all mushy because halleluiah, somebody wants you. How long has it been since you got some, or are you a white, blank page?" He snickers to himself. "Probably the latter. Don't go looking for me to write some words down. Not interested."

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down and resist the bait. I've got him talking, open and warm. Yeah, so he's being annoying as all hell, but the way he's going, I might just uncover this mystery and get to return to Balamb. I bite my tongue and reply cheekily,

"If you wanted to distract me from my question, why bring it up again just now?"

"Ah, Squally-boy. That's for me to know and you to find out." He glowers; victory is his, for now.

For all that he's trying to hide his business from me, he's not being anywhere near as flighty and paranoid as I expected. It's almost as if he wants me to find out what he's doing, yet that's unthinkable. If Seifer was preparing a fresh assault on the world, he'd have more sense than to let his plans slip through to me. That and his clear, initial intent to find himself a Sorceress makes me wonder whether there's not more to this than meets the eye.

Testing my theory, I mutter, "Doubt it's worth the effort myself. Think I might go for a walk, the weather's finally picked up."

His eyes darken a little, and he shows signs of panic. It's pretty obvious that he doesn't want me leaving this apartment, but does he want me to fight for the information? Possibly he just wants to feel that he has a purpose, that he possesses something that Squall Leonhart would kill for. Hell, it's what he's wanted most of his life but his behaviour right now is characteristic of Zell. Cheap, reverse psychology is not Seifer's style and neither is begging. I've thought it before and I do so again with more certainty; something isn't right about this.

"Don't you want to know what I'm up to, after all? Nobody will be happy if Squally the spy-boy goes back with no secrets, will they? Poor Squall, you might even find yourself out of a job." He grins despite his anxiety. "All because of harmless little me."

He's deluding himself if he thinks that's true, I muse, and then I reply, "Stop playing with me. I asked out of interest, and I'm not going to twist your arm or play stupid verbal games with you to find out. I'd rather go get some fresh air."

"Oh, Squall, Squall. I'm hurt. I was relying on you being all anal about your job, just like you used to be. Shame. I miss the uptight bastard. Still, I guess I could do you a favour and give you a little clue as to what you're going to be facing in six months or so." He leans back against his chair again, eyebrows raised, face illuminated with whatever pleasure he's getting from driving me crazy.

I pause. "If you want to, Seif, go right ahead. I'm not bothered either way."

"What, no '...whatever.'? Such poor form today, Squall. Sorely disappointed, no A+ for you."

He's just talking in rambles now. He's been doing that a lot all week, losing the subject in one of his little metaphorical speeches and then forgetting to go back to it. It's a big change from the focussed, verbally vindictive man I used to know and it leaves me feeling unsettled. I continue to look at him, contributing no further comment but offering him the floor. Like the Seifer of before, he takes it greedily.

"Well, well, spy-boy. Won't you be gutted when you hear what I have to say?" His green eyes are positively alive with evil excitement and his lips have made a cruel smirk on his face. "Won't you be just devastated?"

"I won't know, until you come out with it." I reply tonelessly, contrasting his rising fervour with my cold, calm indifference.

"I suppose I've kept you waiting enough." He concedes, tapping the surface of the table with his fountain pen. Its hollow knock makes the scene even more eerie; even though the sun beams through the window and the room is relatively light, it still feels dark, odd and chilling. Perhaps it's the unknown yet scarily familiar expression on Seifer's face; that frenzied look of a victorious man. At least he's still got his confidence. Again, I say nothing. It seems to spur him on faster than my replying; just like old times.

"Here it is, then. Make sure you report this back to your employers nice and loud, now; I want to go down well for them. Whilst you've been doing your surveillance, you were probably thinking you had me covered the entire time and assuming that you could rest easy; I was proving you wrong. You're not the man you used to be, Squall. I got through your net this time." He chuckles softly and I feel a sense of deep forboding creep over me once more. I've really screwed up royally and I don't know what the hell I'm going to do if I've messed this up for Balamb-G. They needed me and I've let them down. What kind of leader am I? As I painfully consider the consequences, he is speaking again; voice hard and firm yet full of vicious joy. I cannot stop my jaw from dropping when I listen to his following words;

"I've recruited myself a fucking huge army, Squall. Right under your nose."

--- 


	10. Chapter 8

Autumn Chapter 8

I look at him, absolutely aghast and for one of the first times in my life; I say the first thing that comes into my head. Without thinking at all, I retort,

"You're lying!" It's as much a comfort to my own fear as it is an accusation; I don't want to believe that what he's saying could be true. Sometimes I think there's only one thing in the world I'm good at and to fail at it now would question my entire purpose. I don't want to consider it and I can't. My eyes blaze at him and I fail to register the hurt look on his face. "Tell me that you're lying!"

Probably enjoying the hint of pleading in my unusually distressed voice, he stands from his table with the grandeur of a King. His knuckles rest against its flimsy surface, white on mahogany, and he stares down on me as if I am a commoner come to beg a favour from the monarch. In a second, the sorrow in his expression vanishes to be replaced by a look of triumphant superiority; the thrill of finally getting one over on his long-time rival. I feel my breathing increase, suddenly terrified of consequences and the future. Never do I remember Ultimecia being as frightening as this, but it must have been. It's as if I've never known fear until this moment.

"Seifer, please." I continue, hearing my own voice succumb to detestable weakness. "Please tell me that this isn't true. It isn't, it can't be."

"Why?" He barks, the hollow sound filling the small room. "I'll tell you why. You want me to say it because you just can't stand the thought that I might finally have outwitted you. I know what you say about me back in Garden, Squall. You reminisce about the poor little stupid kid, Seifer, who failed all his exams and still had the audacity to think he could touch the mighty Squall Leonhart! I was the petty thief to your Lordship and you just can't stand the fact that I've beaten you at last! I don't care how much you beg, Squall, I won't take it back. This is my victory, fair and square and I've worked too fucking hard for it to take it back. Find your own pride, don't you dare ask for mine!"

"Seifer..." I breathe, exhausted by his furious shouting and his exaggerated metaphors. "You can't beat me by making up stories." Somehow, I know that it can only bring down more anger to challenge his claims, but I can't get the idea out of my head that it's all a lie. Had he founded a military force before I arrived, I would have understood but he said that he achieved it under my nose. He hasn't had that time, I'm sure of it. I've been monitoring him as often as possible. The only time he could have done it would have been during the four hours that I sleep every night and he uses those hours to sleep too. He doesn't sleep when I'm awake, so unless he's been without it for the last six days, I can't get my head around this puzzle. He doesn't show any signs of sleep deprivation. He's got a lot more energy than he used to have. When has he found the time to build up this supposed army?

"And you can't defeat me by dismissing my achievements. Not anymore. When I nearly seized the world, you all passed it off as madness, as another show of stupidity, but not anymore! This time, it's for real, and you're all going to be too busy shaking in your skins to call me a liar!" His voice is dark, rich with anger that is barely under control. His hands have not moved from the table and his eyes are flashing with emotion.

"So, what? What have you done, exactly?" I yell back, taking out my own panic and stress upon him. He milks it up, absorbs it and barely notices my display of rage. "What is it that you claim to have so majestically achieved, Seifer?"

"I told you, I've recruited myself an entire army. That's another thing, you never listened to me. Nobody listened to me. Nobody saw the victim I was because you just couldn't be bothered to open your hearts to me. Nobody heard when I called." The distressed look appears on his face once more; features tight with pain and I almost feel reeled in to sympathise, but at the last minute, logic stops me.

"An army of what? Bitebugs? Empty pizza boxes? That's all you have, Seifer. That's all that's there." My voice quietens; I'm sensing the end of this ridiculous argument. I've had illogical fights with him before, but nothing on quite this level. It's like he's a different person. Then again, I never knew him as a Knight and I wasn't there. Maybe this is what power does to him.

"An army of people, you cunt! 20,000 men; strong, well-trained men just waiting to spill your blood and the blood of your disgusting people. They're hungry for it, and they will get it whether you like it or not. The future is going to be different, Squall, and you heard it here first. Stay with me and you'll have a ringside seat on the action." With that, he walks out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom. The door slams and I am left alone with the distant hum of the shower in the background. Rubbing my forehead, I try to make sense of everything that has just happened; sinking into the seat that Seifer has just vacated and dropping my head into my hands.

I scold myself for the first thought that comes into my head. Evidently my mind is not concerned with the details of this supposed army or the consequences of my failure, but with Seifer's last sentence.

iStay with me, and you'll have a ringside seat on the action./i

Stay with him? From his speech, I presumed that I was included in his intended death list. Why would he be asking me to stay with him and avoid the bloodshed, if he wanted me dead? He must know that if he were to wage a war against my home, that I'd have to fight back and that I couldn't stay and yet he's conveniently forgotten that. Seifer has a habit of only thinking on what he wants to consider and ignoring the opposing opinion but this is ridiculous. I don't know. Maybe he didn't mean it, I guess there's always that. It could just as easily have been a joke, or some flippant remark intended to wind me up. He probably wanted to make me sit here and think like this, just like he always used to take pleasure in my confusion or discomfort. It probably meant nothing at all, yet for some reason I can't get it out of my mind.

Still plagued by it, I move on to matters in hand. If Seifer has recruited 20,000 men, then he'll have them on record somewhere. He'll have some details about their location and their skills; any intending leader would surely have some sort of military plan surrounding his soldiers. If I can find those then maybe I can make up for the mistake of allowing the problem to get this far. If we know his military strategy, the succeeding battle will be far easier and I owe Balamb Garden that much. I never wanted to betray Seifer but in betraying me, he's given me no option. We're back to being rivals again, it would seem and for now I have to do what's right for my home. I can't let some teenage crush get it the way of that. I start looking for records, pages or files, anything that might help deduce what Seifer has planned for the world. Each leaf of white paper is covered with his spidery scribble, and the thought crosses my mind as I glance over the handwriting that this type of information is more likely to be on a computer database than on stacks on paper. Still, to my knowledge there is no computer in this apartment; there's only the basic electronic equipment. A computer, after all, is not the easiest thing to hide. Even a laptop has wires and makes noise and besides of all this, I know Seifer couldn't afford one anyway. As far as I can recollect, I've never heard the tap of computer keys other than my own fill this apartment. That only leaves one option; that the identities of 20,000 men are all written down by hand somewhere in this messy pile of paperwork. Slowly, I sit down and begin hastily searching through the sketchy evidence of Seifer's betrayal.

It's completely bizarre; each page bears no relation to the one preceding it. One minute, I'm looking at some drawn up military plan involving Centra, and the next; it's moved on to the capture of Galbadia Garden. Neither plan is detailed nor explanatory, nor does either even make sense. I can only assume that Seifer can understand his strange coding because otherwise, it'd look like the work of a deranged man.Shaking my head, I put the pages to the side and flip through the following ones, scanning through studies of his prospective opponents. These are intriguing insights into the weaponry and skills of Quistis Trepe, Irvine Kinneas, Selphie Tilmitt, Zell Dincht and finally, me. With underlines. I scoff, tracing my finger over the words. His description of me I'll read later, it's something I want to do only to fuel this pathetic crush of mine and I don't have time for that right now. I place the paper in my pocket with the tiniest surge of guilt, an emotion I dismiss by checking the next page. Names swarm me from the page and I suddenly realise that I've found what I'm looking for; a multitude of unfamiliar names in succession, written in Seifer's handwriting. Unlike the other papers, this one is careful, articulate and entirely different. Each name is followed by data about the identity; ages, dates of birth, heights and weights, skills, family details and personality insights. Turning over the page, I find that its back is identical and there are five other similar pages besides. That should be roughly the number Seifer was crowing earlier and it seems that my job will be made easier by this eventual show of conscientious work. Had I been using his earlier paperwork, I'd have been in trouble, but these papers are full of essential detail and other useful information, so I feel more at ease with my situation. Using these, we should have few problems cracking down on Seifer.

Taking the six pages, I try and figure out a way of analysing them without Seifer noticing their absence. The plan I think best would be to retrieve them when he is asleep, sacrifice my own slumber for the night and check the names out. Unlike Seifer, I do have a limited computer database with me and on it is a gem of Quistis' doing. She figured that if Seifer were to be building an army, I could keep an eye on his soldiers using her database of populations. In short, it's a legal copy of government census files tracing every citizen in Gaia. Of course, we can't access anything that doesn't relate to our military aims, but I can certainly check out the special abilities of his soldiers, whether they were ever SeeDs and thus hold GFs; that sort of thing. I have to be two steps ahead of Seifer now and that program is going to help me achieve that. I will not fail this mission, I can't afford to. Tonight, I have to pay for my neglect and try to catch up with him, as otherwise I don't want to think about the consequences. I rise from the table as the shower ebbs out and prepare myself for another round with the man himself.

---

Later, I silently wait in the darkness until I know it is safe to move. From down the hallway, I can hear the rhythmic sound of Seifer's breathing in his bedroom. I've been on enough training missions sharing a room with Seifer to know what he sounds like when he's asleep. I also know that he's too light a sleeper to maintain slumber if I went into the room to check on him, so I move as soundlessly as I can straight across to my room. From the dim light created by the slightly open door, I locate the small, portable computer and bring it to the bed, balancing it on one bare knee as I activate it. I've learned since being here that the central heading isn't wonderful and even in my black shorts I'm chilled. Throwing a dark shirt over my shoulders, I balance Seifer's papers on the other knee and load the program. I don't feel any particular emotion overwhelmingly and for the first time since my arrival, I feel as if I'm on a proper mission. I know where I stand and I understand my task in hand. I can do this. Tapping the codes to access the database, I wait in anticipation for signs of Seifer stirring. When the trained soldier in me is satisfied that I am not about to be discovered, I begin my task and enter the first name.

Johan F. Reynolds. Seifer has him written down as being a year younger than me and having graduated from Galbadia Garden in the year after I finished my studies in Balamb. He is a skilled swordsman, his weaponry reminding me instantly of Kiros Seagill's artillery, and his specialist subject academically was the use of rarer magic. Digesting this, I turn to the whirring computer and watch it check through the census records, looking for the bait. After a minute or so of this incessant humming, it comes up with nothing. Frowning, I check my spelling and try the search again, adding a specification of Garden and age. Again, my efforts are rewarded with silence; no such person exists. I wonder briefly whether this program is as good as Quistis claims, but then she's used it ample times before and it's never once failed her. There is nothing to do but to check the next name and to see if it's me making the mistake. After all, I've never used this machine before; most likely it's some kind of human error. People assume that being Squall Leonhart means that you have the Midas touch with everything you turn your hand to, but to be honest, I'm not good with electronics. Not besides the basics, anyway. Garden computers are fine and I've an adequate knowledge of average computer systems but other than that, I let Zell or Irvine handle the technology. Give me a good old fashioned sword or some letter-writing paper any day. 

Aria Seymore, a current honours student of Trabia Garden. She excels at some kind of pyrotechnic archery, by the looks of it; probably an original weapon. Fire magic is her forte and she commands "a respectable number of fire-based GFs". My Hyne, I muse, if these are just two examples of Seifer's military force, we may well be in trouble. Biting my lip, I key in the name into the system and watch it hum into life. As it carries out its task, I scan slowly through the following names on the list; Micha Kassa, a technological wizard with an interest in machine and magic combinations, Thea A. Zinan, with a vast zoo of GFs at her fingertips, and Thomas W. Alyans, a freelance soldier with excellent skills as an assassin. It seems that Seifer has taken an interest in him; there is more information to his favour than for any of the others. The little swirls around the name and the interest taken in him seems strange to me, and the thought crosses my mind that the two are involved in some way. The computer rudely interrupts my consideration of Seifer's sexuality by again coming up with nothing. I stare at the blank screen aimlessly, checking and re-checking my spelling and running more complex searches, changing everything that I can think of to make it as specific a search as I possibly can, and still I find nothing. Out of pure frustration, I type in 'Seya Andersen', a student I knew from my year in SeeD who failed her SeeD test that year and then re-took it at Galbadia, I believe. We had a little bit of a thing when I was younger, don't ask. It doesn't take the program two minutes to locate her and bring up her details; her studies of ice magic types in Trabia along with her progress as a higher-level SeeD. Evidently, the damn thing works. So, why isn't it bringing up Seifer's information?

Over the next two hours, I go through half of Seifer's lists, working as quickly as I can. As I work, the computer picks up speed so that I can run the commands quickly and the list of names vanishes before my eyes. Not one of those names matches on the search engine. I've a list of crosses on a separate piece of paper so long that I'm getting seriously worried. This isn't going to look good in my report for Quistis, naturally, but there are other consequences to consider. As I continue checking and continue receiving blanks, I consider the possibility that these are all codenames for the real identities. It's a valid idea, but surely it would take too much work to cover up names when the rest of the information is left to peruse? Doing searches by abilities, GFs or Garden has also brought up nothing, so if this is all Seifer's cunning deceit, he's basically had to invent 20,000 false personalities. Even Seifer isn't that conscientious, surely? I rest my head in my hands, musing. This is all far too weird for me. The logical conclusion is that he's figured out 20,000 cover stories, but...I can't help but think it. What if there's more to this than meets the eye? What if I'm looking at this too logically, with too much of Squall Leonhart in my mind? There may well be a different answer to this and it's one that I don't really want to think about. I shake my head violently and continue on with my search, forcing hideous ideas to the back of my mind where they cannot hurt me.

---

It is dawn. Seifer is still sound asleep, no doubt dreaming of the world falling to its feet before him as his peaceful breathing might testify. I am sitting, crooked, in the tiny stairwell outside his apartment. Quistis' voice is filtering in cross spurts through the mobile phone to my ear as she tries to understand what I am telling her. That in one night, I have checked through 20,000 names. My hands are practically numb and my head is suffering even more, but I have checked every one of Seifer's potential recruits out. Only a bare handful showed up as actual, existent human beings and even then, their other specifications were wrong. Hari Densmith was a sixty year old man who ran a small bakery and had no military connections whatsoever. Angelica Brushel was a forty-two year woman who spent her time teaching in a local primary school; a sworn Pacifist after her father was killed in the First Sorceress War. There were others, all living humdrum lives, over twenty years out of the target age for a soldier, and then nothing. I had thirty or so real people alone for Quistis to chew over and I could tell she wasn't impressed. I think she thought I'd spent the last two days screwing Seifer senseless and was trying my luck at a second-rate excuse. I wish. I sighed.

"Quistis, I know how important the mission is. Do you really think I'd take a risk like lying to you? I'm telling you, the names don't show up. I'll pass them over to you if you don't believe me. You check them out."

I can almost see her glaring. "Fine. Fine, Squall. Let's just say, hypothetically, that you're right. It leaves us with no information, nothing to go on and he's getting off scot-free. Meaning that we need to catch up, or risk this whole thing going absolutely haywire. Personally, I think it's obvious why I'd prefer to believe that you're just being an arse and lying to me."

"Point taken." I admit grudgingly. "I need to stay here and do some more investigation. I'm no happier with the situation than you are."

"I don't think so, Squall." She retorts sharply. That knocks me off my feet and I frown darkly. If my hunch is correct about Seifer then I can't leave him. It's about more than a war, more than the Gardens dying a fiery death. If I'm right, he's going to need my help. I can't go back now.

"Excuse me?" I say, my voice steely and prepared for the fight. I've scared higher persons with that voice, Quistis shouldn't be too difficult. It's not like I haven't won an argument against her before and I'm not going to lose the knack now. People generally think I'm too quiet to argue and you'd be surprised how far my voice can get me these days just in pure shock value.

"You've done enough. It's clear that Seifer knows that we're onto him. He's covered his tracks completely and it's gotten too far for you to do anything. We need to compile our armies now, in preparation for the battle. Balamb Garden will have to call on its best SeeDs and that means you, sunshine. I want you out of there tomorrow." Listening to her voice takes me back to the classroom, but I'm not her pupil anymore. She outranks me, but she doesn't own me. I don't have to do what she says, and if my instincts are right I've got time to get back to Balamb if need be.

"No, Quistis. I'm going to stay. My job was to determine the threat, and I haven't yet. I bet we haven't even locked onto a Sorceress yet, have we?"

"When questioned, Rinoa said that she knows nothing about it, no. But that doesn't mean-"

"Then we haven't any evidence. We've no Sorceress, and no army. As far as I'm concerned, my job isn't even close to being done and I'm not leaving until it is. Am I being understood?" I can hear the pause in her voice that means she's registering my rudeness with a shocked expression, probably with a look of fury on her face to boot.

"I wouldn't take this crap from anyone else, you know that?" She retorts darkly. "I don't even know why I take it from you; Hyne knows I don't get anything back for it. I haven't a clue why I ever had a crush on you, Squall. You're miserable, stubborn and a pain in the arse."

"Is that my permission?"

"I thought you didn't need it."

"I don't, but it'd be nice to be assured that you won't be sending out a fleet of armed guards to drag me home." I smirk down the phone, curling my bare legs close to my chest for warmth. The stairwell is absolutely freezing and my skin is pimpling. Shorts and a shirt are no opponents against the chilly, morning air.

"Now, there's an idea." She remarks dryly. "Can I just ask why, then, if I'm not even allowed to disagree with you? Why you want to stay? I understand your aims, but I just get the feeling that if it were Zell, you'd be out of there like a shot."

"If it were Zell, I would have left days ago." I snort and then more seriously add, "No, I understand. I just...I know Seifer better than any of you back home and he's been behaving strangely. He's done odd things, left these cryptic clues and I don't think it's as straightforward as it looks."

"How do you mean?" She taps the control panel on her office phone gently as she talks and I can see her in my mind; swirling in her chair, curling a strand of blonde hair around one finger as she struggles to keep her temper from attacking the infamous black sheep, Squall Leonhart. It brings a smile to my face that falls just as suddenly as it arrives.

"Well...all this. First, he insinuates to me that Rinoa is his Sorceress, when she knows nothing about it and he knows fine well that I'm her Knight. Secondly, the names. Don't you think it's a little elaborate, even for a set of cover stories? I mean, the detail he's gone to...it must have taken months, Quist. Months he probably hasn't had."

"You think he's made the entire thing up, don't you?"

"That's exactly it; I don't know. That's why I'm staying."

"You know what I think?" Her voice goes hard and I prepare myself for the worst. "I think that you're in love with him, and it's making you see this unclearly. You're being completely naive, more than a touch stupid and downright irresponsible. I think that you're wrong and I think that you're going to get burnt for it. The only reason I'm letting you stay there is because I can't make you do anything else. You're his as far as anyone else is concerned, fuck Balamb. I should have sent someone else. Well, don't come begging to me for help when it all falls down on you and it turns out that your name is the first on his hit list."

"For God's sake," I spit out, stung. "Don't mince your words or anything."

"You think that was harsh?" She's on a roll; always a bad thing. Refusal always hits her badly, she's a woman. "How about this: I'm going to get Balamb, Galbadia and Trabia ready for battle. I can't leave the situation alone on your word; I don't trust it for toffee. You feel free to investigate all you want, but I won't hesitate to instigate war against him if we get the slightest provocation. Do you understand?"

"So here our ties end, then?" I ask bitterly. "All those years together, the six of us against Ultimecia, all of that means nothing, does it?"

There is a long pause before she replies, and the sound of a hollow click rings the bell on our ending friendship;

"Better hope he's worth it."

--- 


	11. Chapter 9

Autumn Chapter 9

-Two days later-

There are a lot of ridiculous scenarios that I'm prepared to believe; Quistis declaring eternal love for me, Raijin becoming a first-class genius or Fujin in a dress. Squall Leonhart at my breakfast table; dressed in barely nothing and miserably eating a bagel as if the world is about to end, however, throws me. I blink my eyes a few times to make sure they're serving me properly and when I open them again, the little minx is still there. One knee is curled up to his chest, an arm holding it in place and the other rests against the leg of the chair. He has a faraway look in his eyes and a strange feeling of protection surges in my veins. But no, it would never do to let His Highness know that I've got the urge to cuddle him stupid. It's not like I'm in love with him, he's just such a child. He still looks about fifteen, you know. Still only a baby. I wonder what the hell he's doing here, standing defiantly before my impending wave of destruction, eyes wide and terrified but form unmoving. Just like when I brought Hyperion down on his pretty forehead. She never worked as beautifully as she did after she'd scorched him. Oh yes, I know he knows. Wouldn't take a brain surgeon to figure out what I've been planning and Squall is more intelligent than most. If I wasn't so prepared for this, I'd be worried. As it happens, he knows too much but it came too late for him. There's nothing he can do to stop me now and as far as I'm concerned, his continual presence is nothing more than a game for me.

"That bad, huh?" I grin, sitting down opposite him and grabbing an apple from a terracotta bowl just before him on the table.

"Hmm?" He suddenly comes back to life, eyes flashing blue and staring right at me. He hates being surprised and the slight dip of his brows as he frowns amuses me. Just like old times. "What?" He asks sulkily, as if the answer wouldn't interest him in the slightest.

"I meant the bagel. You're sitting there, face like Ifrit with a hangover. What gives?" My guess is that he found my names. Well, the falsified ones anyway. I can just see him in my mind; sitting there thinking he'd hit the jackpot, eyes shining and a smile on his face and then the discovery. Sorry Squall, game over. You really think I'd leave you the real names? Dream on. Oh no, what he needs is right here in this skull of mine. A place he's never been to and never will. Safe and truly sound. Crafty, aren't I?

"Hn, doesn't matter." He mutters, tossing the half-eaten bagel onto his plate and staring at it blankly for a few seconds. I take the pause in conversation to gratefully run my eyes over his lean form as he sits still. Maybe not such a child after all; he's definitely been training. It's not obvious unless you've got six years experience fighting with the guy, but that fits my bill. I can see exactly what's been built up, where the fresh, hidden strength lies. Those arms look even more powerful than they used to be and his shoulders have moved out; firm and strong. He's still as thin, which disappoints me. I always found him a pathetic victor over me, given his androgyny. Like being beaten by a girl. He used to hate me saying that his figure wasn't masculine, but let's face it, it isn't like mine. I don't have his tapered hips, his flat stomach and narrow waist and that gave me ammunition against him. God, how he hated that. I suppose I never told him how attractive it made him. Squall isn't classically beautiful. He was never the most popular guy in Garden, but I never a soul that could just glance at him for a few seconds. He has the kind of face that makes you stare, that sort of unique beauty that you don't see every day. Huge, dark eyes against a pale face with fine cheekbones, slight nose, a gentle jaw and that soft, luxurious hair falling into it all. He was prettier than a lot of the girls, and he hated that too. If he'd ever shown the slightest bit of interest in me beyond my training possibilities and the specs on Hyperion, I'd have taken him places, that's for sure. Rinoa is my lady, henceforth, but I wouldn't be displeased if she brought him along for the ride.

"Jesus, you really haven't changed." I comment lightly, with just a hint of sting. "Still so fucking grouchy over nothing."

"Seifer, just fuck off today, alright? I'm not in the mood." He puts one hand to his forehead, smoothing strands of dark brown hair with a look of tired pain on his face. Hmm, covering my tracks really is exhausting him. Poor baby. It's no fun being the pursuer.

"What's wrong?" I ask, the note of sincerity in my voice scaring me. Caring about Squall is probably a bad idea, given our circumstances, but letting him know has to be worse. For the first time in my life, I've raped him of all his power. Why give him any back?

"I just..." He looks at me, eyes clear and glassy, a note of reluctance in his tight features. It's something he doesn't want to tell me. Perhaps he's finally going to confront me about what I'm doing. I wonder if Rinoa's told him that his services won't be necessary anymore; there's something in his face that distinctly reminds me of being on the field test in Dollet and me kicking that dog to the curb. That same sort of sad-eyed, unwanted expression. Urgh, please. I know better than to fall for that crap.

"What?" I bark, my voice a little harsher. That's better. This is an interrogation, not a conversation. If you behave oddly then he'll know what you're up to, and you can't afford to be cavalier, Seifer. No matter how far you've come or how well hidden your plans are, this is Squall Leonhart. If he can get hold of an inch, you'll lose a mile to him.

His eyes look at me for a minute or so as he tries to find the words to voice his inner turmoil. I'm almost starting to enjoy the visage of him struggling again, trying to face up to me but finding himself incapable of it. I ask myself; what can he know? He'll no doubt know about Rinoa by now, his connections are too strong. So he knows I have a Sorceress. He's been through my work, so he has the 20,000 false names. He knows I have an army. He's seen the pretend battle preps I'd drafted up, so he knows I have a military plan. All he knows is surface detail, nothing underneath. He's more or less completely in the dark. I smile to myself, tasting his loss on my lips.

"Seifer, what the hell is wrong with you?" He eventually explodes, bringing both hands to his forehead as he realises that his preferred method of dealing with the problem isn't shouting after all. "Hyne, I..."

"I think I should be asking you that." I murmur amusedly, fetching a glass of water and placing it in front of him. "You're the one rambling on."

"Stop changing the subject." He replies, ignoring my offering. "That's not the point and you know it. I asked you a question."

I sit down, crossing my ankles and staring at him defiantly. "Then I'll have to ask you to elaborate, sweetness. I don't understand what you mean."

Sighing, he lets the provocative name-calling go and says softly, "No, well you wouldn't, would you. Seifer, if I ask you straightforward questions, would you give me lies instead of answers?"

"That all depends on the questions, Squally. I'll be optimistic and hedge my bets that there's gonna be something I'll want to worm my way out of." I smile sweetly, kicking his foot gently with mine. "Seeing as you're the big, bad policeman and I'm the lowly prisoner, and all. Come on, where's your sense of fun?"

"I think my mother took it with her when she died." He says under his breath, and then quickly, ashamedly, he covers it up with a question. His eyes are dark with pain and I almost find it within myself to feel sorry for him. "You think this is fun?" If the glare wasn't clear on his face, it was bitterly obvious in his tone. "You're worse than I thought."

Intriguing. He seems to have something new on me. Forcing back the cold fumes of dread that rise up within me, I comment,

"Question on, oh superior one. Let the Spanish Inquisition be well re-created."

I can see in his eyes that he's practically seething. He's always been this short-tempered but never quite so open about it. Whatever it is that's getting to him, I owe it a million gil; this is the most fascinating show I've seen in well over a year.

"Why did you tell me that Rinoa was your new Sorceress?"

Buzzer number one rings inside my head. "Ah-ah, Squally. Now, you know that's not true. I did nothing of the sort."

Taking a deep and distinctly nasal breath, he continues, "You insinuated it."

"That I may have done. Ask the right questions, see, baby. Yes, I probably did." Besides, I muse, it wasn't anything that you wouldn't have found out...when it was too late. He has no power over you, Seifer. Remember that.

"Why?"

"Why else but because it's the truth? Come on, Squall, you're not that stupid. Think about it. Straight down the line, that's me." I grin, showing my teeth. He's feeling as naked as he is; emotionally as well as physically. I can see it in his shifting and his unsure look. "Well, apart from the bisexual aspect."

"...That's not what she said." His eyes flash to the floor as an immediate, red-hot anger takes me away. I am unable to control the outburst that is instantaneous as horror grows inside me. I stand from the table in a brisk, violent movement and I see him look at me with fearful eyes as I yell,

"...No! You're lying!" As I speak, I swipe at the glass of water that stands by his relaxed hands. It takes flight gracefully, before meeting the wooden surface of a kitchen unit and shattering into a thousand pieces of crystal. Over the song of its destruction, I can hear his breathing.

He takes a moment's pause in the vain hope that it'll calm me down before replying smoothly, "No. She's been questioned, as you might have predicted. She knows nothing about any of this, Seifer."

"That's bullshit, Squall! Quistis' bullshit, someone's bullshit! It's not true. I know that I beat you in our little game two days ago, but don't do this to me! Don't say these things, not when you know how they hurt me. Can't you accept defeat like a man?"

"Can't you?" His voice retains the maddening gentle tone, as if he's talking to a lunatic. I will not tolerate this patronising attitude. My Sorceress lives for me to serve her, she cannot have denied me. Edea denied me and I will not suffer that again. Those cold fingers of agonising neglect will never touch me again. I will be a great Knight and Rinoa will love me when Edea couldn't. How dare Squall try to take this chance away from me, when it's all I have left?

"I am not defeated!" I stalk over to him and he rises from the chair, backing away. He is not afraid, but disturbed by my invasion of his space. Squall hates people getting close to him, but so what? I hate his cruelty. Truth hurts, but lies sting all the more.

"She would not deny me, not ever!" I continue, raising my arms and placing them at either side of his face, trapping him against the door. He squirms only a little, -testing the confined surroundings-, before wrapping his arms tightly around his bare torso and staring me full in the eyes with blazing, blue orbs.

"She loves me, my lady! What, are you jealous? You want her too? She's mine, Squall! I don't care what the hell you say, you're disrespecting her and I won't believe it! She loves me!" I continue to yell on, noticing with some frustration that he doesn't as much as blink.

"Seifer, this is delusion, can't you see that? This is my entire fucking point; what the hell has gotten into you?" His face is taut with misery and I know that it's not our position that's hurting him. How can he stand there, looking so pathetically pained at hurting me? He's playing the martyr and he's mocking me. He's laughing inside. I hate him. I hate him.

"I'm making something of myself again, Squall, that's what! I know you could never handle me strong but that's your shit. I'm going to get out of here. I'm not going to be abused and spat on anymore, I'm not going to sit by as death threats pour into my mailbox. I'm going to show the whole fucking world what it is to mess with Seifer Almasy! No more pain, Squall, just glory!" I slam one palm down onto the wood of the door and to his credit, he doesn't even flinch.

"You want to escape all this, don't you? You're living an utter hell and you'd do anything, believe anything, to get yourself out of it?" He whispers.

"She came to me, and offered me that salvation. She saved me, just as Edea saved me from the bunch of creeps you lot were to me in Garden. It's the same. Rinoa rescued me from this and now, I'm going to make it worth her while." I can feel the tension slipping away slightly, calmed by the stable look in his oceanic blue eyes. He isn't even close to losing his temper and that both unnerves and relaxes me at once.

"Listen to me, Seif." He says, eyes searching my face for some kind of unsaid agreement to meet his request. I nod very slightly, though I've no interest in hearing the views of this traitor. I should rightly kill him for his words abusing my Sorceress. Perhaps I will, when he's finished. Maybe that's all his words are; delicious pre-empts of his death. I will hear him speak, and then I will hear him scream. Tasty.

"Nobody can argue that you've been living a nightmare since the War ended. There's solace in nobody, you can't get a job or a social life and everywhere you go you're castigated and abused. You're a living target for millions of people. The world's most wanted man, the one who can never pay enough to balance out his crimes."

"Thanks for the recap, Squall." I spit out, glaring at him with blazing eyes. How can he even try to understand what I've been through these last months? He's Daddy's little boy and the world's hero. What would he know about pain and suffering?

"Let me finish. Because of that, nobody would blame you for being desperate to find a way out. It would be totally understandable that, at any cost, you would strive to make the pain go away. Nobody at all could point the finger at you for that." His voice is soothing, soft; like Edea's used to be. I have to fight against it to stay upright, not to fall into his arms and seek the comfort I need.

"What...what the hell are you saying, Squall? Talking in riddles, leading me around in metaphorical circles. Why can't you ever say what you mean?" I frown at him, flexing my hands on the doorframe as if to remind him that I hold the power between us.

"I'm getting to it. Listen to me, I'm getting there. I think there's something wrong here, Seif'."

"Sure there is. You're in my way, taking up my space and irritating the hell out of me."

"No. Well, okay, but I meant with you. There's something not right with you." He glances quickly to the floor before returning a steadier gaze to me. I swallow, staring right back at him. I feel my eyes flash as I growl dangerously,

"Are you saying I'm crazy?"

He studies me for a second, eyes searching my face. "Not crazy. That's the wrong word. But I don't think you're entirely mentally healthy."

I laugh. It feels so good to. Throwing back my head, I fill the entire kitchen with the low, throaty cackle. "Oh, this is just perfect. Who put this little joyful picture into your head, then, Squally? Was it Quistis?" I mimic her deliciously. "We can't have that little rat bag Seifer show us all up; we'll send Squall in to convince him that he's mad so that he'll give up on his plan to destroy us all!"

"Seifer, do you think for a second that I'd do such a thing? For fuck's sake, you know me. I'm not a sheep."

"No, you're a mercenary and it's close enough. Well, it won't work. I can't even pretend to be offended by it because it's just such a cheap, pathetic insult. If you want to stop me, you can't. If you're going to try anyway, you're going to have to try a lot harder than that, baby. Stupid, sheepy Squall." I grin widely, enjoying the look in his burning eyes. With a blink, I feel his hand creep up the back of my neck, fingers stroking the short curls of blonde hair at the nape. Before I have a chance to ask him what he's doing, he leans forward and places his lips to mine. Before I have a chance to savour the softness of his lips and his tenderness, he has retreated again and I am remembering that I'm angry with him.

"Fucking idiot!" I exclaim brusquely. "Don't ever do that again!"

"Sorry." He says quietly, brushing off the rejection as if it were nothing to him. "I just wanted you to know that I was sincere. I'm not following Quistis' orders, or those of anyone else, with this. This is what I believe. This is me."

I raise one hand to my lips and wipe them clean, enjoying the hurt expression that passes through his eyes quicker than a bolt of lightning. "It still makes you stupid, Squall. I wouldn't let you off just because you thought of this all on your lonesome, even if I did believe by Quistis et al haven't got to you. The bottom line is that you're wrong; I am not crazy."

"I know you're not. I just think that you've changed, and you're no longer entirely functioning normally. It's nothing to be ashamed of." He moves a little more within the cage of my arms, and I can see goose bumps on his cold skin. The kitchen is cold and he looks like he's freezing; icy and beautiful. I almost regret pushing him away, but kisses are about power. He was just trying to steal my power from me again; it isn't like he placed his lips to mine because he has any feelings for me.

"Sure, and you wouldn't be upset if someone called you insane."

"People have been, Seifer. It made me think, about how mentally stable I am. And you know, I'm not totally all there either. I'm better than I was before the War, but none of us from the Orphanage are totally normal human beings."

"So what's special about me, then?" I continue to glare at him, fascinated by the turn in conversation but not wanting to let up on the rage I feel for him. How dare he come here and spout Balamb Garden crap at me? They have no right to try and pull me down this way, not when I'm so close to realising my dream. My Sorceress will be compensation for this pain, I must hold strong for her. It is like religious martyrdom, I will persevere through the agony to give my life to the ideal woman, my Queen. I will sacrifice all for her; pride, strength, humanity. Anything to serve her. Anything to be saved.

"There's a lot of special things about you. In this case, I think you need help. You've gone beyond the others and I want to help you out of that little, black box you've placed yourself in." He speaks slowly, naturally and never once showing a hint of reciprocated anger.

"What box? What are you talking about?" Jesus, and he says I'm the one with mental problems. Can the guy not speak in proper English? Maybe that's why he was so silent all the time; not because he was sullen and shy, but because he can only talk in ridiculous riddles. Pathetic. At least I can communicate properly.

"This...alternate reality." He replies tentatively, knowing that he is now on dangerous territory. I can almost smell his fear and I find it comforting. Squall and I were always a screwed up union, though, weren't we? Nothing like the scent of terror to spur you on. As I am thinking; my curiosity aroused by his mystifying statement, he continues.

"This world you've created for yourself so that you can hide from the real world, from the pain of reality."

I blink, reining in my anger with worn ropes. "Excuse me? What the fuck? Real world, fake world? Squall, you're the one talking nonsense here. I don't know what the hell they've done to you back there but don't make me take the flak for it."

"Seifer...this isn't real." He's preparing himself for the final blow, I can see it. I feel all the muscles in my body go tense, anticipating the last sting. Lies, I tell myself. Whatever he says, it's all lies. Don't listen to him, it'll hurt too much. He's not with you anymore, you left those days behind. You've a Sorceress, now.

"Your Sorceress isn't real, your army isn't real, the military plans will never happen and you're not going to take over the world. It's not real, none of it. You have to realise that. You've created your own dream world, and now you're lost in it. I need to get you out."

As I lose control of my temper, I can only hope in the back of my mind that each time my hands slam down upon the wood frame, his face is no longer there.

"I have a Sorceress! She is mine! Don't take her from me, you bastard! You sick bastard! I hate you! You don't understand; she is coming for me, coming to save me and make everything alright again...She is as much me as I am her! She is my other half, my darkness, my light, my day and my night! I need her!"

Slowly, after my anger seems to be fully spent, I feel his arms stealthily wind around me. Not entirely sure what's happening, I allow my head to rest on his shoulder and lose myself in the rhythm of his breathing. I'll never believe that bullshit. No matter how good he feels against me, or how much I've needed someone's arms to embrace me, I will never fall for it. It's lies, all lies. I'm in the cocoon of the serpent, no matter how wonderful his body feels. I'm in the bed of the spider, the den of the hungry lion. I will not fall for his arms, for his tenderness. No. Not ever.

I may hide myself in it, comfort myself by it, but I will never, ever fall for his kiss. These lips have spilt poison before they have kissed mine. These lips have lied, created great insults to my lady and I, dared to make audacious statements about me in wounding verses. I will not fall for their gentle, winding spell. I will not fall.

...So why am I kissing them back? No. No, I cannot...I cannot...

The last whisper I hear before I think myself gone, it echoes long after in the hollows of my mind;

"Then let me take her place."

--- 


	12. Chapter 10

Autumn Chapter 10

-Two months later-

"Just stay in the car, Seifer. I've got your coat, stay there."

For once, he appears to be listening to my words instead of laughing at them or paying them complete ignorance. I can't resist a smile at the apparent progress, however fleeting it may appear to be. Hyne knows there's been enough bad news over the past eight weeks. Where to start, though? I guess I could say that everything has changed one way or another. The relationship between myself and Garden is finished, more or less. Quistis and I haven't spoken in two months, though this is not without attempts of reconciliation on her part. She has tried to contact me, despite her assurances that our bonds were to be severed and unfortunately it is me who has kept our separation intact. It is me who has left Balamb behind. That said, I have had few options at my fingertips these past weeks and ultimately it came down to a simple choice. As I first predicted it might be and as Quistis feared, it was the mission or Seifer. For once in my life, I went with my heart. This wasn't about saving the world anymore, nor being the legendary crusader. What's the use in being a hero, if you can't save those you care about most? What it came down to is that I refused to cash Seifer's life in for a reputation boost and a few thousand gil. That's what I did in the War and now, I'm paying him back for it. I guess I've just finally realised that he means more to me than anything Balamb Garden could give me, or any punishment they could bestow upon me. I'll protect him with everything I've got and that's why I've left Quistis in the dark.

Seifer's treatment began six weeks ago. For all that I hated tearing his world apart by the mere suggestion that he had a couple of screws loose, I felt even worse when I turned out to be correct. After I'd forced Seifer to get himself checked out, -and in saying forced, I truly mean it with every inch of its implication-, the results came back in my favour. The doctors had considered him for some time; checked his symptoms and his past history, in concordance with my evidence and testimony and his fierce assertions to the contrary, and found the truth quite unmistakable. Even I was surprised at the speed of the diagnosis of schizophrenia. As far as I was aware, and maybe my reaction came in shock and protection of Seifer, that disorder was far too serious an illness for him. I had my mind set on something relatively smaller; a trauma-induced sickness or a mild depression. Schizophrenia to me was a terrifying word; one that spoke of entire lives being ruined by a species of imaginary demons and darkness. It was something from which sufferers did not recover; it was a permanent stain, a hole never to be mended. I think I may have fought their diagnosis as hard as Seifer did. In vain, though.

They diagnosed all the same. The signs, they said, were both so painfully aware and so obviously accelerated that they felt the risk of an early diagnosis was worthwhile just to get him the swiftest onset of treatment. They were all so sure, so utterly positive that it could be nothing else. Details they'd taken down from as early as the Orphanage days had pointed at a scarily early onset of mild symptoms; irrepressible and incomprehensible anger made worse by his rejection from the rest of his society, Balamb Garden. In short, it was his fear of other people's harmful intentions towards him that caused him to lash out and the mocking and tormenting he received from the other students and Instructors did nothing to help. When the doctors spelled it out, I could understand their reasoning. He covered all the bases of paranoid schizophrenia; the perceptive errors. He had his delusions of grandeur; being a Knight once more and an incredible leader on the brink of world takeover. The doctors said that the phone conversation I'd walked in on, carrying the Chinese takeaway, was probably all in Seifer's head as well; nobody on the other end of the line. He'd single-handedly crafted those 20,000 identities of the men and women for his fantasy army. Rinoa's involvement and her gift of protection, comfort and love had all been in his mind. There was no army and no Sorceress. He was no Knight. He had his delusions of persecutions; me, the angry policeman, the hungry spy. Every waking moment of the day, he thought different things of me; that all my words came to him via Quistis, that I'd been somehow altered by her to present to him the arguments that I did. Sometimes I was just nosy, other times I was the devil himself come to take him away. I was the enemy, no matter how hard I tried to make him see that I was trying to help. I was making a victim of him, waiting for a moment when I could take him as my prey.

He had the auditory hallucinations; conversations with recruits, telepathic communication with Rinoa and Edea, whispered messages telling him that I should be gotten rid of for his own safety. Thoughts were in his brain that he could not recollect thinking; directions to himself that he was convinced came from Rinoa, or some other angel looking over him. He said often that he wanted to kill me, and then referred to the incident later as being the will of his Sorceress. Poison, he said, or brutal murder. Both he'd considered during the course of my stay, but he insisted that it had never been his idea. He'd been commanded and he felt compelled to serve. Along with the violent outbursts of anger that were apparently unprovoked or inappropriately extreme, the doctors had him down as a classic paranoid schizophrenic. Simply put, his falsified beliefs made him carry out acts of violence incomprehensible by others. There were other affects that he possessed that had lead them to schizophrenia; his opposing reactions to emotional events, for one thing. He laughed at sadness, became furious when complimented, and so on. Those in the white coats called these side effects. They had no doubt about it; Seifer was a schizophrenic, his sub-type paranoid.

Treatment was more or less instantaneous, for many reasons. It would have been impossible for them not to recognise him as the Sorceress' Knight, so soon after the War. I believe that were it not for the bondage of practice law on their field, they would have made arrangements for his sudden death at their hands for the good of the public. The last thing they wanted was the world's most wanted man running around bearing such a dangerous, unpredictable disorder. Of course, this is why I've kept silent to Quistis. Luckily for Seifer and myself, it is not possible for them to carry out such a move. Legally, anyway. This responsibility and power lies with the government, not with the hospitals. As far as the doctors are concerned, the law binds them to treat Seifer as a normal schizophrenic patient. This is the reason for their fervour. If they cannot kill Seifer for the good of the planet, then they damn well want him under control as quickly as possible. Perhaps this is the true reason for his diagnosis, in addition to the clarity of his symptoms. They want to make him better so that he doesn't hurt anyone else. Hey, it's not Mother Theresa, but it'll serve. Patient confidentiality keeps the precious information from leaking out for now, but I have taken other measures to keep his treatment as secure and anonymous as possible. If details of Seifer's illness ended up in government hands, either those in Esthar or in Balamb, they'd have orders out for Seifer's death quicker than a blink. They'd die for such an excuse to finally rid the world of him, those crafty bastards. He escaped last time, but they've wanted to hunt him down ever since. This would be their ultimate ticket and I cannot let it fall into their hands. I suppose that this is one situation in which my name does come in handy. The nurses in charge of Seifer's treatment have become taken with my identity and their conjured image of a reward for their service to my friend. Helping the great Squall Leonhart save the life of a loved one? That'd be a good story to tell their grandkids in forty odd years. It also has the added effect of insinuating that my father is knowledgeable and comfortable with my obtaining help for Seifer and thus they need not make a fuss about it to him. Hopefully, that'll lessen the chances of anything ending up in the government Laguna rules over.

Neither I nor Seifer has told them much. I've vaguely mentioned that Laguna finds Seifer's illness a difficult subject to discuss as he wishes for no alarm to spread amongst the citizens of Esthar, and thus requested of the nurses and doctors that they avoid the topic with him. As far as they're concerned, it makes perfect sense to them and they've kept quiet. The other untruth I've passed on in order to shroud the treatment in secrecy is that myself and Seifer are involved. I did worry initially that telling the involved hospital staff that Seifer and I were lovers would make them more likely to sell the scandal for a quick buck, but I've come to realise that they think they can make more out of my continued favour. It's made them more loyal to my cause, thinking that they're working to save the life of my loved one, my significant other. So much juicier than a friend, so much bigger the reward. It suits me. If they can save him from death, I'll keep my end of the bargain. All I want is Seifer back. I don't care about Gardens, governments, missions or money. All I want is to save Seifer. When did I become such a sentimental old hound, huh?

The question I've been asking myself, though, is what does Seifer want?

I slide into the passenger seat of the newly bought, battered vehicle; a black car that serves its purpose and keeps the pair of us suitably anonymous. Handing over his long black coat, I watch him take it with an unusual calm look in his eyes and throw it to the backseat. I know he hates his treatment, but that wouldn't set him apart from any other patient of his type. It's not pleasant, put it that way. The frequent, varying medication and the regular counselling sessions he can tolerate, but the frantic exploration of more dramatic treatments on the part of the worried doctors is not to his liking. It worries me. I first thought that he was progressing well, due to the change in his behaviour when he was around me, but I am assured that this is because he trusts and is comfortable with me. The doctors say that he is not responding to the mild treatment as well as they had hoped and that they are considering more intense methods. Like fuck that's the reason. They just want him recovered before all hell breaks loose and their heads are on the starting block. They're scared of what he could do with his illness, that in his hands it's made all the more dangerous. I see it differently and I am not a subdued participator in the progress of Seifer's treatment. The proposal of using ECT, especially so early on, is one I will not be allowing them to easily mould into a concrete decision. That's something we have to think carefully about. I want to make Seifer better, but in my opinion, he hasn't had enough time to progress anywhere just yet. A mere six weeks isn't anything, in the scheme of things, and whether it's a safe use of electrical current or not, I'd rather see him through the drugs and the friendly chats first.

I know he doesn't want any more treatment, but he knows he doesn't have much of a choice. Somewhere in the last two months, he sacrificed all decisions to me as some kind of payment, I think, for my standing by him. It was a ridiculous sentiment, given that I could not under any circumstances bring myself to leave him, but he insisted that I do what I thought best to make him better. I sometimes wonder whether he believes he's truly sick at all or whether he's just humouring me. It would be strange, wouldn't it, to go through all of these hospital visits and medicinal treatments if you didn't think there was anything wrong with you? I don't know. I know he can't help but insist, frequently, that his Sorceress is coming for him and that the time he spends in hospital is wasted whilst he could be refining his plans for the world. He wouldn't be much of a schizophrenic, I suppose, if he wasn't loyally glued to his story in the face of me and the doctors. He reacts to much of what's happened to him since his diagnosis with scorn and disbelief, but then, there are these moments where I think he understands his illness.

"How are you feeling?" I venture, selecting first gear and setting off on the twenty minute journey to the border of Esthar, where the insignificant and relatively unreputed hospital stands. Though not lacking in excellent quality, it provides suitable protection to us both given that it is neither the largest nor the more expensive facility on the Continent.

He looks at me, jade eyes tranquil and settled. "Like a man awaiting a sentence." He chuckles lightly. "And salvation alike."

"It's going to be okay, Seif. I'm going to look after you."

"You weren't exactly the Sorceress I had in mind." He replies softly, with an edge of humour in his voice.

"I never did look good in a dress." I quip in response, watching the slow smile creep over his face at the rare fall of a joke from my lips. "No, I know. I know I wasn't. I think you need more than magic just now, though."

"I'm a Knight, Squall. You are too. You know that a Sorceress is more than a few magic spells; she's an anchor, a harbour in the storm." His voice is serious, but not threatening. The meds are helping to get his temper under control, but more than that, I've found him much less prone to violent outbursts since we became more involved. I was advised by the doctors to keep a safe distance of detachment from Seifer, although he obviously was comforted by my presence. They said that he was dangerous, that he could without warning be provoked into uncontrollable anger and that he was an untapped volcano. I could get hurt, apparently. I showed them the scar on my forehead and told them that he was no more dangerous now than he ever was when sane and they eventually quietened on their campaign to keep me out of his bed. Yes, I understand that if there's the slightest suspicion on his part that I'm about to hurt him, logical or no, he'll strike out at me. I know that and I'm prepared for it. But where Seifer is concerned, he's borne me no resistance and seems to be soothed when he rests his head on my shoulder at night. Are we lovers? I don't know, it's never been set down in words or needed to be. Lovers is too simple a term for our situation, maybe. We kiss, we touch and we share a bed. In these ways, we are your conventional couple. There are no sexual relations, we do not go on dates and I spend a fair proportion of my time calming his irrationalities and forcing medication on him. In those, we are not. Whatever we are, I would not be otherwise. I'm not ashamed to admit that I love him; as a man, as a lover, as a psychopath or whatever your chosen terms would be.

"I never was all that good a Knight, Seifer." I reply, glancing at him as the green scenary speeds by; reminiscent of my journey out to Esthar, when the world was an entirely different place. "I help Rinoa all I can, but I never had your passion."

"I know. That's why she wants me. I think it's because you're gay, though. Being a Knight is very sexual, and it must be difficult to feel that kind of passion for her. I mean, you were fine at the whole heroic business; I know about your throwing yourself into space for her. The true love bit is hard for you, isn't it?"

I am thoughtful for a second. "When you started talking, I was tempted to cut you off and call you an idiot because you wouldn't believe how many times I've heard my loyalty questioned by my sexuality. I think you've probably got a point, though. I love Rinoa, but not the way a Knight should love his Sorceress. It's all very clinical and probably not what she wanted at all."

"Like I said, it's why she asked for me. This is why I love being bi; you get the best of both worlds. I have my Sorceress awaiting me for a bit of a romp and some battling, and I have you gagging for me on the other side. Perfect."

"Shut up," I mutter softly, the pathetic insult representative of the lack of hurt I feel at his statement. I'm too familiar with his delusions now to be upset with them. "You've just got me, Seifer, and I'm not sorry for it. You'll have to lose the whole hot chick in a dress idea, though, sadly. I'm all you've got."

"Hey, don't count your chickens. You might look good in that kind of get-up, you never know."

"Tell you what, you do your best to help them make you better and I'll consider it."

"You're joking." He says flatly, looking at me with raised eyebrows. "That's not much of a bargain, Squally. I'd expect you to marry me if I get through this."

I shrug nonchalantly. "Get through this, and I'll do that too."

He chuckles under his breath. "I'll hold you to that." He replies and I am not sure if he believes my sincerity. I nod slightly, turning into a corner and whisper in response,

"Make sure you do."

There's another chuckle, slightly more malicious in note. "You mean that, huh? Don't bullshit me, Squall. Don't lie to me." His voice takes on a dangerous tone and I know where the conversation is headed. I should have known to avoid subjects like my own feelings for him, as he has difficulty sometimes believing that I'm being honest. I've been cold so long that it'd be hard for any of my friends to have faith in my new-found emotional capabilities, I suppose. For Seifer, though, disbelief is a black cloud on his mind. It challenges his entire understanding of the world. A suspicion of me leads to the conclusion that his complete understanding of me is false. One lie and I am the enemy, no matter about the past seventeen years of history. I sometimes think that he trusts me because we've spent our lives linked in with one another, but then it's easy for him to discount that in one of his episodes. Suddenly, I am no longer the Squall he knows, and he reacts badly to the stranger he believes has taken my place. I think the doctors thought it'd be difficult for me to understand and in a lot of ways it can be. I just try to see it through Seifer's eyes. Textbooks lose their meaning to general observation and the rules I start to pick up just by being close to him. And I should have known not to pander about my emotions. Stupid, stupid idiot.

I look at him, gauging the danger. "I've told you how I feel about you. I was telling the truth."

"I don't understand that." He says simply, making every effort to keep his temper in check. "What the hell for? How can I believe you if it doesn't even make sense?"

"I know what it takes for you to believe in something that doesn't seem likely to you, Seifer. It must be bloody difficult." I change gear as I speak, keeping my voice even and my words clear. Not because he's stupid, but because his sense of ambiguity is so much more sensitive now. This makes talking about something as abstract as emotion all the more difficult. I cannot prove that I love Seifer because merely telling him is not evidence.

"But what I feel for you is based on who you are. If you can't understand me, that's fine, but you can understand yourself."

Slowly, and for little reason that I can see other than to comfort himself, he works his hand over towards me and rests it between my thigh and my knee. Tiny movements punctuate his words. "I'm a bad tempered cynic who isn't worth your time, that's what I see. That's the truth. All I am is Rinoa's servant, now; that's all that's left of me. She just wants the bold hero who can see her through until the end. The brash, the brazen. I'm the fire. All I am is what she would want me to be, and I see nothing in that for you."

"Without a doubt, you're the most tempestuous human being I've ever met," I concede and he gives a laugh, squeezing my leg as he does so. "But I want that. Think a woman is the only one who can appreciate that rebellious streak, that glint in your eye? I want that. The sarcasm, the temper and the fire gnawing away at you. That's exactly why I like you."

"Because I'm likely to burn you, scorn you, break you? 'Fuck's sake, Squall. You just want to play the martyr, you little masochist." He looks at me seriously, not relenting to my explanation. It is an effective way of leading Seifer around his illness. If he's willing to discuss why he believes that you're lying, then his anger is kept at a minimum and there's a chance that he may begin to understand his disorder. When he erupts into temper, there is no chance for that. I've found that the best way to deal with his paranoia is to spread it out openly and engage him in talking about it, try to override it if you can.

"I don't think about it like that." I respond reasonably. "You're all I've ever wanted, Seifer, all that you are. That hot-headed, furious, wild spirit of yours. I want the heat of it, the sensuality of it. If I were worried about being burnt, I'd go screw Quistis; be comforted by a frozen Ice Queen who would never raise an emotion in her heart for me. I want your fire, Seifer. That's what I want. I don't want to act a role and I'm not fulfilling some hidden fantasy. Straight out, I just want you. Why do you think I could never leave you alone?"

"You always used to give in to me so easily." He considers, resting his other hand against the window and looking towards the deserted landscape with almost a mournful expression. Sometimes I think he can see his own prison, the black walls that encase him. Sometimes.

"I just wanted to be around you. I still do. I'm not asking you to understand, or to believe me, because I know that what's going on in your head isn't something which I can override with a few words. I just want you to know that I love you for who you are, not because of some benefit for me or some misapprehension. Those things which you blame yourself for are the qualities that make me love you. I'm under no disillusion about you, Seifer. I see the blackness and I want that, too. Anything that makes you you is no fault to me."

"Yet you call me a psychopath, you say that I'm abnormal and you make me go to that fucking place. I hate that place."

"Seifer, if you woke up one morning and you couldn't see at all, what would you want to do?"

"See someone. Get it fixed. That's a stupid question, Squall."

"And if you couldn't do it yourself, would you get someone else to help you? Would you let somebody else find you the help you needed?"

"Of course I would. What's with the bloody psychobabble? I'd rather you started praising me again, I quite liked that bit." Again, he squeezes his hand against my thigh, hints of amusement touching his gleaming eyes.

"Well, right now, you can't see properly. Your eyes work but your brain isn't giving you the right information. It's going to hurt you more and more unless it's sorted, and that's what I'm doing. You can't do this on your own, and you need to get it fixed. I know you don't like it, and I don't imagine that I would either. But it's going to make you better and that's the important thing. You can't understand right now because you don't believe that you're ill. But you will. You will. That's why I'm here, that's why I make you do this."

"You're fucked up, Squall. Truly. Every time I ask, I get that same stupid answer and you can't even try to be original. I'm not sick and I'm just wasting time. Rinoa isn't going to be happy with you, you know. She needs a Knight, not a medical certificate and a bottle of pills."

"I've suffered the female wrath before and lived to tell the tale," I quip softly. "Just, please, let me handle this. Give me time."

"Have you got her permission?" His voice picks up and something about his tone tells me that if I could only affirm this question, he would drop the entire subject for good. Seifer would do pretty much anything for Rinoa right now, due to his illness. Any advice from her scarlet lips would be lapped up and followed to the exact letter, with not another complaint. I cannot lie. I will not lie. I would rather answer a thousand repetitions of that question than drive him further into his shell by giving him a solid reason not to trust me. If I do anything to justify his delusions, then I risk losing him to this illness forever.

"No." I answer smoothly. "I haven't."

He studies me for a while, perhaps surprised that I haven't taken the easier route and told him otherwise. "You really are taking her place." He tells me, as I drive the car into the parking lot of the pristine, white building. He doesn't even register that we've arrived, all focus on his accusations.

"If I only could, Seif." I reply, not looking at him. "I'd be anything and everything to you if I could."

"You can't be her." He responds; voice firm, but not dangerous.

"I know." My voice is resigned and I turn the engine off. The purr fades into the afternoon air and the eeriness of silence takes hold of us both. The sun filters in through the side windows, casting our small scene in a dusky light and I sometimes think that I'll remember forever Seifer in these moments. His hair, washed lighter by the summer sun, shines in its bright glare and his eyes are calm, reflective and alive. I see so many sides of him, but this is the way I like him best; on the precipice of anger, falling away from its red-hot clutches. Under control and thoughtful, recovering, maybe. I hope. I can only hope. "I know."

"But be who you like." He continues, his words carefully chosen. "I accept you, around me. Be whoever you choose. Try to be whatever you want to me. Please, just stay. Don't leave me."

I turn to him, forcing down my own emotion. Such words would sound insignificant within the conversation of an average couple, but that submission has not been easy for Seifer to hand over. His disorder rests on his clinging to anti-social tendencies, afraid of social interaction. He is so frightened of being close to people, so afraid of their intentions and their ridicule, that to accept me into his life is letting down a huge wall. To ask me to stay would have two months ago been almost unthinkable. It is, I think, the first time since his diagnosis that he has shown me any kind of indication that he wants or needs me. He has been content to cuddle me, to behave with me as lovers would, but it has always been difficult to determine what he means by this. To hear him say aloud that he needs me by his side stirs something within me and there is a lengthy lapse of time before I can respond. 

Pulling him close, I hold onto him for as long as I feel I can get away with before he wishes for his own space back. Hooking one hand around the back of his neck and upwards towards his ear, I move back slightly and kiss him; roughly, deeply, with the feeling I cannot put into words for fear that he will misunderstand it. When his hands move confidently to surround my face, I allow myself to hope that I have reached him.

--- 


	13. Chapter 11

Autumn Chapter 11

- One month later-

I stare with a painfully familiar expression at the computer monitor in front of me. For most, the look that is distinctly goofball spread all over my features would not be a great surprise. Also so the bemused little noises that straddle the boundary between 'eh?' and 'eep' and my habit of sticking out my tongue when concentrating intently. I don't notice the people around me today, though; how can I, with this hanging over me? There's just too many issues all vying for space at the forefront of my mind and I can't focus with so many loose ends to deal with. Ducking outside, I find myself some fresh air and a quick cigarette; the latter action obviously voiding the former. My nerves haven't felt such a blow as this since the last Lunar Cry and even then I think I got through it without standing outside like a misbehaving schoolboy seeking a secret nicotine fix. I'm getting too old for these shocks. Staring up at an unhelpful sky, I inhale deeply and try to think. Obviously, the first problem that needs tackling is how I was not privy to this information in the first place. Being handed it by some enthusiastic young thing of an intern from a hospital on the borders is bad enough, but I don't understand why it was ever hidden from me in the first place. Surely these kinds of documents should have been filed long ago; under clear headings so that I, the President, was aware of the situation? I mean, this is Esthar, land of sublime technology! If I can't even be updated correctly on our dangerous war criminals then I really need to be thinking about the state of my country.

Flicking my thumb against the cigarette, I scowl at the ground. It doesn't make sense to me, how this has been able to occur. I don't normally find mistakes and errors overly frustrating. I prefer to take them into my stride and try to iron out the administrative problems rather than throw out employees right, left and centre, but this mistake makes my blood boil. Ever since Seifer was released from bail and delivered into the neon, welcoming hands of Esthar's borders, -probably the only place in Gaia where he had a chance of keeping his life-, I'd asked for close monitoring. I was assured that it would be done and sure enough, the critical observation paid off. We soon had him marked as an international terrorist with intentions towards Sorceress War mark 3 and I was able to bring Balamb and Galbadia Gardens on board to help with investigations. Trabia remained cautious in our triangular alliance, but it promised support if need be. I was right in the centre of a rising storm of controversy, knowing that within a year I might have Seifer where he belonged; with a thick cord of rope around his neck and a crowd of onlookers at his hanging feet. It's not personal, really. It's just my belief that he should have paid for his sins with his own life. Brainwashed or otherwise, a true man will take responsibility for his actions and will not shy away. That he could escape scot-free for the lives he took whilst my son and his friends were interrogated about their use of GFs and inundated with threats of their removal, that shocked the hell out of me. There was a time when they were questioning the SeeDs that saved the world and asking whether the end justified the means, and meanwhile, nobody even gave a thought to the true villain. I just thought that justice had cast its eyes elsewhere the day the Seifer Almasy escaped the death penalty. And that, oh that just made his preparations all the sweeter. I thought that we were about to bring the man down and dole upon him the punishment that he had miraculously escaped the first time round. I was vengeful, I was angry and I was cunning. Not qualities the general public might associate with Laguna Loire, but that's what happens when a man messes with my son.

So maybe it's just the tiniest bit personal, after all.

There wasn't anything sinister in the delivery of the information previously kept from me. The informant was no older than nineteen, I'm told, and currently completing an internship with hopes of becoming a doctor later in life. He'd found the information when carrying out some menial task upon the computer belonging to his boss for the week; a nurse whose name or reputation I wasn't aware of until I ran some searches on her. It was then that I realised that his strange claims seemed to ring true. At first, you see, I just dismissed the page of rabbiting as being the product of the poor boy's imagination, being overworked and underappreciated in the medical world. Only the heavy underlines below the name 'Seifer Almasy' made me look twice and I must admit that I nearly choked on my coffee when I read the word 'schizophrenia'. It was a disorder that I was not overly familiar with and after some moments of reflection, I'd begun to pour over the information more carefully. The boy had written merely that he'd found the following documentation and that he could only assume that the aforementioned nurse had forgotten to update the records held by the government about its citizens. I can only presume that he thought he was being exceptionally helpful, taking a chance on the governmental ignorance in the hope of plaudits or praise from the President. With this covering note and its dubious claims that Seifer was suffering under the disorder paranoid schizophrenia, I turned to the records that the boy had referred to with grave interest.

It was when I skimmed through the pages of carefully typed text that I realised that there had probably been no mistake. These records had never been meant for my eyes, that much was clear. They were not the basic outlines to a character as would suit the government files on Estharian citizens. There was clear, medical examination and a full mental health analysis, plus ample detail on treatments, progress and other personal details besides. This was the kind of online folder one would keep as a private record of a solitary patient, almost a shrine to a psychopath tended to by a caring, intrigued nurse. This was not for public view. I frowned all the more, scanning through every word with rising disbelief. Without a doubt, the story was true. There was too much in these records and the official markers from the hospital incriminating every page for it to be a silly game. Everything I would have needed to know was right in front of my eyes; every question I could have asked about Seifer's condition or his response to treatment, even his exact symptoms, worries and triggers. I had all the ammunition I ever would have needed for an official investigation but it had all come too late. His diagnosis was already some twelve weeks old and his treatment over two months begun. Though the papers told me his progress was stagnant and had been from the beginning, I still felt that my hopes had been dashed. I realise that I can't be omnipotent, but the most dangerous citizen in the whole of my country has managed for two months to gain treatment for a terrifying disease that I wasn't even aware he possessed? That suggests to me one of two explanations; that my government has recently fallen apart entirely without my knowledge, or he's had an extremely good mole keeping him underground. As I ground out the cigarette and head back inside, I know where my money lies.

Swivelling around on the computer chair to face the accusatory screen once more, I pick up a pen and chew it thoughtfully. Looking for insider information; anyone protecting him, anyone with a motive to keeping him alive. Almost as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I regret it for the effect it has on my body. Frozen, I shake my head. Can't be. But he would know...No. No. I can't possibly be suspecting my own son. Just because he was sent out to observe Seifer, the fact that he's there doesn't mean he working for the enemy. Maybe he's not aware of it, any more than I was not two days ago. The mole has perhaps hidden it from him, too. That would be much more plausible. Squall thinks he's doing his job when in fact, the tables are about to turn on him. Satisfied, I begin reading through the reports again. Initially, there is nothing to say who brought Seifer in and whether there ever was such a person. It's only when I get to later pages detailing more descriptive elements to Seifer's treatment and progress that I come across my first clue. Minutes from a meeting held within the hospital to decide on the best course of action for Seifer, scrawl wildly across the page and I blink. It appears that initially, counselling sessions and similar emotionally supportive facilities were used on Seifer, to back up the use of four different types of drugs. Risperdal, prescribed to help control his delusions and hallucinations, haldol to reduce the occurrences of manic episodes in which Seifer most often becomes violent, buspirone for the anxiety that accompanies his illness and a newer anti-depressant called celexa. He is not a permanent resident at the hospital but the issue had been discussed numerous times during the meeting due to his slow progress. His responses to the aforementioned drugs had not been as successful as hoped and the doctors had discussed the possibility of more dramatic measures. Certainly they wanted him to become an in-patient, but it seemed that Mr. Leonhart had fought this option tooth and nail.

...Hang on.

I retrace the last sentence and stare at it wide-eyed. Pushing my chair back from the desk I fold my arms,stare at the ceiling and sigh heavily towards it. So Squall's involved. Deeply involved, by the sound of it. And executing a perfect betrayal, just to add the icing to the cake. My first thought after consideration whether my hands would fit around his scrawny neck is whether Quistis is fully aware of the situation. If I wasn't meant to see these files, then I can hardly think that she'll know more than I did. This seems to be confidential information hidden far too well by that son of mine and I know I have to contact her. A few attempts on my office 'phone and I reach her, undoubtedly delaying her from her Garden duties. Guilt flashes through me in a second but I know I have to update her on the situation. Balamb, Trabia and Galbadia are waiting on my call, not to mention to future of Esthar; none of us are out of the woods just yet. Seifer may not be a Knight once more, but he is crazy and I'm not entirely sure which is worse right now.

"President Loire?" Her voice comes through the receiver, a busy, clipped tone. I've taken her away from something, I can tell. It was the same voice Raine used to use on me when I distracted her from cooking dinner with another anecdote about Winhill's finest monsters picking on Kiros.

"Quistis. Thanks for taking the time to talk to me. I've a feeling it'll be worth the inconvenience."

"No trouble, I've been hoping you would call. We've got no further at all contacting Squall." A gentle noise in the background tells me that she has just settled down into her chair and I am relieved to hear it. I hope I've got her attention for a while. "We've tried every way we can think of to let him know we need to talk to him, but nothing. Short of sending someone in..." Her voice tails off with regret. "If only I hadn't been such an impulsive idiot..."

"It's not your fault. Squall's not the easiest guy to cope with, especially when he has his mind set on something." Believe me, I know. He's the son that refuses to accept his father most of the time. We've made some progress; as much as can be made what with him being so quiet and removed, but he remains mostly independent of me. I'll keep trying, though. A little part of me has always wanted a son.

"All the same, I shouldn't have lost my temper with him. I guess I'm just stressed, what with the importance of his mission and what he's done. I honestly thought he had more sense than to take Seifer's side and start making excuses for him. He'll only be hurt when it backfires on him and Seifer launches that first attack he's got planned in that little, evil head of his. It must be getting close to that time, too. Too close."

She knew that Squall had pledged allegiance to Seifer? And why wasn't I included in this exclusive piece of gossip? If I were twenty years younger and more of a petty nature, I'd be tempted to without my information from her as revenge, but the stakes are stacked way too high for such games.

"Quistis, I need to talk to you about Seifer."

"Oh? Oh, no...He hasn't started already?" Her voice takes on a distinctive concerned tone and her breath hitches at the end of the sentence. She is afraid of what my answer will be and who could blame her? A Garden to be imminently attacked and no gunblade-wielding war-hero around to help her.

"No. I'm...well. What did Squall say to excuse Seifer, exactly?" Squall doesn't lie outright, -except where I'm concerned evidently-, and his decisions are usually based either on facts or solid, firm feelings. He doesn't respond to whims or premonitions, and I'm curious as to why he was so quick to defend his arch-rival, let alone abandon his hometown over it.

"There was a fair amount of naivety, actually." She responds after a thoughtful pause. "I was surprised. He said something about believing that Seifer wasn't in his right mind. Honestly, it was worse than that brainwashing idea that was tossed about to get Seifer off the death row."

"Quistis, I hate to tell you this, but I've got some new information. Very new, as it happens."

"I don't see why that should be a problem, President Loire. I'm always happy to hear of developments, especially with incidents like this. We've all been so worried." I can tell that much from her voice and it concerns me slightly; Quistis isn't one to admit weakness often.

"It appears, from a series of documents that have been leaked to me, that Squall was right."

A painfully long pause settles over the conversation, such that I find myself wincing as it continues to draw out. Being unable to stand it any longer, I continue. "I'm sorry, Quistis. It's just that I've been given details on Seifer that allude to mental illness. Paranoid schizophrenia is the apparent diagnosis and-"

"President Loire, I..." There is a long sigh before she regains the power of coherent speech. "I'm sorry. Please, explain further."

"Truth be told, I wish I could with confidence." I admit, scratching the back of my neck with one hand. "Yesterday I received from the government a folder of papers with a covering note. This informed me that on the disc enclosed in the package, I could find useful information as to the condition of one of the country's most famous war criminals. The informant, a young intern at a hospital on the borders, found the details whilst completing a task for his temporary boss, also Seifer's head therapist. He must have assumed that she had made in error in not having them forwarded to the government records, for obviously I had no idea that he was even sick, much less that resources were being used to treat him."

"I see." She says, breaking up my story to enable her to breathe and calm herself, it seems. Her voice, though still trembling slightly, becomes steadier and she adds, "I see. Hospital details were leaked out, and it appears that their being hidden was intentional?"

"I imagine so. There's too much personal information and data of a less professional nature for them ever to see the light of day, to be honest. It seems to be a record kept by the nurses themselves, used in Seifer's treatment to keep a close eye on him, but nothing more clinical than that. I suspect there's proper files kept somewhere for the eyes of us politicians." My voice is bitter but I can't help it. Anger surges through me at the actions of my people, the deceitful and dangerous actions that some individuals will allow themselves to commit, and for what?

"So somebody has worked pretty efficiently to keep this from ever being recorded, then? Someone has forced it all underground, disguised it and kept it shut away. Doesn't take a genius to work out who that might be, does it?" She responds, tone hard and unhappy.

"Not really, but you knew of his previous inclinations towards Seifer. I was lead to blame him only when I read his name amongst the files. He's been assembling with Seifer's doctors and other staff for meetings about the man's progress, and so forth. Seems to be his only caregiver and thus the responsibility for ongoing treatment rests on his shoulders." I sigh a little. "So it often is with schizophrenia, I am lead to believe by the documentation."

"That explains everything, then?" She asks, as if she could not believe such a simple solution. "His claims of world dominations, of being a Knight, of behaving strangely, everything that Squall had the decency to feed back to us before he joined the dark side?" It's rare that I hear sarcasm from Quistis and I have to admit to liking it. It's comforting to know that she gets as pissed off as I do. I admire feisty women.

"It would seem so, it's all down here. Delusions, hallucinations, paranoia, anxiety and his withdrawal from the rest of society. Couple that with his anger and unexplained temper and it looks like a dead cert."

"So there really isn't a Sorceress, nor a forthcoming war, it's all been...Seifer's imagination?"

"According to this, yes. I wouldn't doubt it, either. I'll check it but it looks damn near official enough to me. I think we can safely say that there's not going to be a war any time soon, at least not on his terms. The problem is that-"

"Knowing that he's mentally ill doesn't reassure us anymore than our previous suspicions did." She finishes, sharply tapping one fingernail against the receiver.

"Exactly." I answer, nodding my head once. "I don't know what you're thinking but I imagine we need to open up converse with the other Gardens before we make any moves. They'll need the situation explaining to them and we need their input. Only then can we move forward, if indeed we intend to do so."

"Laguna?" She says softly, the retreat into the more comforting, less formal name emphasising her own vulnerability. I can hear the tiny shake in her voice as she says it and I hope to Hyne that I'm not that terrifying. I can get angry quickly, but I'm like a storm; I blow over quickly. Nothing to be really afraid of.

"Quistis? What is it?"

"If you had the final decision on this, what would you do?" She finishes weakly, the tapping ceasing. All I can hear is her near-whisper and I feel suddenly afraid of how young, and how scared, she is.

I think for a moment. "I'd have to do the best thing for my country." I admit, hating myself for the political pretentiousness but knowing it to be true. Much as I would like to go cart wheeling down my own route, I've been in this job too long to be able to forget my duties. Esthar is my number one priority in the case like this and that leaves me with little choice. Unfortunately, the option that I will now most likely have to take doesn't look anywhere near as appealing as it did only an hour ago, but then...Squall's involved now, isn't he?

"What would that be?" She continues timidly, overburdened with chaotic changes that she obviously wasn't prepared for. There is a slight hint of hope in her voice, almost, as if she is praying that my answer will serve to put this demon totally, and utterly, to rest for her. It's again rare that I hear Quistis so dejected, but it seems that this case has probably taken a lot out of her. It's understandable that she might want to just give in and escape from it; I'm sure anyone would in her situation. To be honest, I wish I could do it.

"I'd have to try and remove him, for public safety. If this were the first controversial incident surrounding him then it wouldn't be as great a problem as it is now, but his past might well dictate his future. He got away lucky the first time and that significantly lessened his chances this time around." My mind screams the name of my son at me, wondering at what he's got himself into with Seifer and the extent to their relationship. I don't want to think that it could be anything more than platonic; the idea is too distressing given the sentence I may be soon to give to Seifer. I also hardly think it likely that Squall would enter any kind of union with a madman, let alone one who on numerous occasions tried to kill him, but then sometimes I feel I barely know my own son. He could be harbouring masochistic tendencies and a kink for this kind of thing, for all I'm aware. It's all too possible that they're romantically involved, given Squall's persistent protection of the older, deranged man. Urgh, I'm too old-fashioned for this. In my day, we courted pretty females, got leg cramp and then had songs written in our honour. How times have changed, and my son at the forefront.

The tapping slowly rises as I speak, and the thought crosses my mind that Quistis has recovered her composure; perhaps because she has guessed the meaning of my explanation and is comforted by it. I become surer of this idea as she responds,

"You mean to imprison him for the remainder of his illness or his days; whichever is longest, or to have him killed?"

I swallow the lump in my throat that very suddenly comes about and reply, "I worry, Quistis, that I may have no other option but to choose the latter."

--- 


	14. Chapter 12

Autumn Chapter 12

-One week later-

"You almost looked like a GF."

I glance at him, eyes lifting from the road before me as I try to absorb the bizarre statement. Seifer looks back with an amused look on his face and it strikes me how different he looks compared to a few months before. His hair is growing out slightly and wearing into a grungy, rebellious teenager look; somehow, it suits him. I never realised how alien he'd look with longer hair but I have to admit to liking the way it curls around his ears and inches towards his eyes. In order to disguise himself further from the inquisitive public, those glasses he owns have been helpful. I was right, he doesn't need them but they have the added effect of deterring people from recognising him. I was worried that my presence might attract even more attention to us both and so I made some minor alterations to my own appearance; tying my hair back, never wearing black, a hat wherever possible to cover the scar on my face. It's ironic to think that those scars wound up being the biggest threat to our secret life together. If only we'd known that four years ago.

"Huh. It was a few leaves, Seifer." I respond, my lips curving up into a smile. I love the drive back from the hospital; Seifer always relieved for the ordeal to be over and more affectionate to me than normal. He softens visibly when it's all over and spends most of the time in the car joking with me, or often, atme. "I think it'd be insulting to a GF, being associated with me and a few leaves. Not much of a spell, is it?"

He laughs roughly and slowly extends his hands over his head to grasp the back of his seat. "Certainly magical, though. You, coming back from your training all flushed and wet from exertion, walking along the cobbled path as if you owned the world."

I snicker. "They read you crappy romance novels in there, or what?"

"I never did tell you about my romantic dream, Squall. Shut up." He teases playfully, wiggling his hips provocatively in the seat. "Were you with Nida or another cadet? I can't recall, but it doesn't matter. You were all hot and leathery, water in your eyes, hair over your face, gorgeous. You walked sex. I watched you do it, trying to work up the courage to go out there and tell you much I fucking wanted you, but when I saw that boy drape his coat over your shoulders, I couldn't do it."

"What boy? I don't remember that." I frown at him, trying to recall the incident more clearly. I remember coming back from a bit of sparring, probably with the grats. It was cold as I walked back into Garden, adrenaline wearing off and body left exposed to the cold, autumn air. When he'd started talking about it, I remembered clearly stepping over the pebbled path and having the bronzed leaves all around me flutter skywards with the breeze. They'd spun all around me and I'd been annoyed about it. Orange skeletons everywhere, so thick I could barely make out the shape of Garden before me and I remember scowling a lot, feeling my inner mood fall even further downwards from its post-battle depression. The scene comes back to me all too clearly, but I don't remember anyone else being there.

"Your memory has always been terrible." He comments. "Trust me, someone was there. They gave you their long coat; blue with some sort of gold embroidery over it..."

"You're thinking of my SeeD uniform; graduation was only about three months later."

"No. It was definitely a coat you had on; longer than that starchy thing. It looked good; breezed with the wind, lapped against those gorgeous legs of yours." As if to emphasise his point, he pinches one of my thighs cheekily and smirks. "You walked through that little kingdom of autumn."

He gets like this after his therapy sessions; all poetic and ridiculous. I sometimes think he does it to wind me up for putting him through this, but on the whole he's far more settled with his treatment. That's not to say he's improving rapidly, because his progress tends toward steady and slow but his outbursts have been less frequent and he makes fewer references to Rinoa and his falsified plans. Only when he's really riled does he ever lose his temper nowadays; the meds doing their job. He accepts that he has to go to his sessions and he doesn't make such a fuss about them anymore. It's only ever this kind of wicked relief when it's done and dusted.

"Kingdom of autumn, hm?" I repeat, again glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. "Definitely crappy romance novel material."

"You think I could have myself a career lined up?" He grins. "I'd write about you. Sexy Squall with the leaves flying all around him; hair in wet strands hanging around blazing blue eyes. Like a beast of fire, a spirit of nature; walking onwards with the worshipping crowd of burnt orange fireflies buzzing in your way."

"I'm sure someone would read it." I comment mildly, and with a reciprocated grin, I add, "And then vomit."

With a snappy gesture, he flicks the radio on and stretches back in his seat. "Too quiet an atmosphere in here. And hey, I know lots of people who'd like to read about you, baby. I could write about what you look like naked, and then everyone would want a copy. I'd be rich."

"And dead, don't forget that." I quip, sticking out my tongue at him.

"I could even take pictures and give the adoring public something to really thank me for. Can you imagine the sales? I'd call it Squall: The Lion Sleeps Naked Tonight." He bobs his head slowly to the rubbish that filters through the grates of the radio as I sigh heavily.

"I'd work on your sales pitch, that title is terrible." The doctors have told me not to joke with Seifer, to banter with him. Our conversations are supposed to stay solemn and professional, so as not to make his delusions worse. I understand their point but I think if I were to treat Seifer in such a cold, clinical way, he'd become far more distressed. From what I know of schizophrenia, it's worsened greatly by low mood. All the same, I feel it best to make sure he knows that the conversation is not based in reality. "I'm sure you'll figure out what you want to do, Seifer, after all this is done."

"Stay with you." He says simply, looking out the window at the passing cars. "That'll do, for now."

I can't help the smile that crosses my face. "Count on it."

"Y'know, not because I actually like you or anything. Just because I've got nobody else. You understand." He looks back at me with green eyes aflame and I roll mine with feigned hurt.

"Oh, sure. I'm just a stray dog to you, I know." He smirks lazily and I can't help continuing, "Keep me for the menial jobs like fetching and bringing you the newspaper, but god forbid actually liking me."

As I talk, I'm aware of the song dissipating on the radio and a harsh local accent streaming over it. The tone is aggressive and informational, and it only takes a matter of seconds for the pair of us to realise that the subject of the announcement is serious. My voice fades out as the other gets higher and almost instantly, I wish I could shut the radio off.

"A statement issued by President Loire today contains details of the difficult choice that he has been facing this past week. After secret details about the war criminal were leaked through to the government by an anonymous source, it was only a matter of time before today's announcement would have to be made. We can only speculate about what will happen to Seifer Almasy once he is taken into governmental possession, but listening to Loire's speech this story, I would have to say that the future looks bleak for the former ex-Knight. This exclusive report brought to you as it happens, only on-"

The hollow, horrible click of the radio as Seifer shuts it off cannot drown out the sound of my heart racing. My eyes open without my even realising they had been closed and I am thankful for the fact that I have maintained my position on the road. I'm afraid to even look at him, knowing that this is going to provoke a bonfire of paranoid energy. I pray that we can only get home before the nature of the news bulletin sinks in; I've never been inside a car with Seifer and one of his episodes and I don't want to start now. Yet I know it's too much to hope for and his opening words chill my blood in a way that I believed only Shiva could.

And how the hell does Laguna know…?

"You told him."

I look at him searchingly, trying to calm him with my eyes, but to no avail. "Seifer, you know that isn't true."

"Come off it." He spits. "Suddenly Daddy finds out from someone who fucking won't give his name, someone who knows what's wrong with me, someone who knows where I am, and you don't think that sounds a little bit suspicious!"

"Hyne, I..." I breathe, slowing the car down a little before continuing. "Why would I continue to hide you? Why would I go to all this effort to keep you protected, only to run along to my father and tell him everything? I'm not stupid."

"Who was it, then? Answer me that, if you're not stupid."

"I don't know! I wish I did, so I could wring their fucking neck!" Ashamedly, I wipe my hand at my face brusquely before trying to control my temper. The thought of losing Seifer to Laguna's will terrifies me; my dad has never taken a liking to him after all that happened in the War, and before that. He's just being protective but he never understood the boundaries of the relationship between Seifer and I, and I know he'd like to chance to rid Esthar of him forever.

"I'd like to wring your fucking neck." He retorts callously, staring at me with wide, angry green eyes. "You little bastard; lying to me, telling me that everything was going to be okay whilst going behind my back and telling your father all about it!"

"Seifer, listen to me, I didn't do it-"

"Oh, sure. No, sure you didn't. It's just fucking coincidental, isn't it? It just happened that it was your father and they can't identify the informant who knows everything that you know!"

"Seifer-" I'm struggling to keep control of the car with him shouting at me; raising his voice and his hands simultaneously, lost to illusions crafted by his mind. Once he gets an idea into his head, that's absolutely it. I have to fight to keep his temper down, to try and win some submission, because I can never convince him that he's wrong. It's not his fault that schizophrenia is a sort of cognitive stubbornness, but it does make it very hard to have a normal discussion with him and especially so whilst driving down a motorway.

"Run along to daddy dearest, Squall, that's right; it's only me you're betraying, after all. Poor old redundant Knight, eh? Is that what you thought? You felt sorry for me, thought you'd play the hero like you always do and dupe me into believing that you really cared for me? Did you? Is that it?" With every question he prods his finger into the steering wheel, eyes blazing and nerves wound like a string. I struggle to keep the vehicle under control, swerving more than once and hearing a chorus of bleeping horns as I bring the car back into the correct lane. The barriers flash horribly close to my eyes and I swallow dryly, trying to force down the internal panic.

"Seifer, I'm here. I'm here. It's alright, just calm down." I manage to break in, reaching across the seats and grasping his hand firmly. Relinquishing my grip on the steering wheel with only the slightest touch of nausea, I hold his palm within mine, squeezing his hand. "It's okay, now. Think, please. Just think."

"I am thinking. What I'm seeing is someone who lied to me and you know how difficult it is for me when people lie to me. You know that and you did it anyway. You told me that you loved me and it was all bullshit. You have no idea how much that hurts to know; none." Hand distracted from prodding by the presence of mine, he makes no attempt to wrestle his free. Everything about him still steams rage but he has settled against the seat once more, his expression more hurt and mournful than furious. I force back the sigh of relief to have the vehicle back under control and glance sidelong at him.

"No. It wasn't a lie, I do love you. I promise you that I don't know how my father knows but I won't let go without a fight. That will not happen." I keep my voice calm, hoping that the message will reach him somewhere in that network of confusion and magnetism; a place where he is mysteriously drawn to lies and deception and where logic holds no appeal.

"How the hell can I trust you, Squall? You've asked for so fucking much already and I'd be a fool to just let you off yet again. I don't even know what's lies and what's not; you've confused me completely. I can't just let this go, you could do it again. You could hurt me again and again and endlessly. I don't want to let you in and I don't want to trust you, if that's what's going to happen. I should only trust her, Rinoa. I should never have believed you."

The words feel as though they might as well be bullets for all their impact. I chew on my lip and try to force the tears back, ignoring the aching of my heart so that I can address him logically; professionalism over emotion. I should be used to it by now but Seifer brings out too much vulnerability in me. I can't ignore how I feel about him when he's present; it's too much feeling to choke down.

"I've always loved you and that isn't going to stop. We've done too much to each other already for that to break down. I never cared that you hit me or hurt me or made me feel stupid; I loved you anyway. You tried to kill me and I you, and we still love each other. What does that tell you? I love you, Seifer. I've no wish to score brownie points with my father and I don't want to be reconciled with Garden. I've got no motive. More than that, I've one hell of an anti-motive because I don't want to be without you anymore. My life doesn't work without you there. I would never, ever dream of telling Laguna about you. I've more sense and much more heart than to do something like that."

He seems as though he isn't listening, staring out the window with a blank, unfeeling expression. I lose the battle with emotion and feel the tears free-falling down my face, licking them away soundlessly. I hate crying. I don't think I have since...well, Time Compression. It makes me feel undone inside and it only ever happens when I'm cornered into something unbearable. Back then, it was facing the reality of a lifetime spent upon a small, floating sphere of rock. When Ellone left, it was the realisation that I was going to be on my own again. It's always about being shoved into a place that terrifies me and having no way out. It's emotional and mental claustrophobia. And so it is now; the likelihood of losing Seifer to one of his dreams and never being able to reach him again makes me sadder than I'm prepared to admit and I struggle to keep my breathing low and unobtrusive. Regardless, he goes on;

"How can I trust you? I can't...not anymore. How the hell can I believe in you? What can I trust?"

I'm ashamed to hear the low note of my voice crackling as I struggle to reply, "When have you ever known me get emotional, Seifer? Like this?"

He looks at me, eyes roaming and absorbing the tear tracks on my face and the look of desolation in my eyes and then he sighs. "You love me."

"Yes." I squeeze his hand weakly. "I've told you that and I mean it."

"Then what are you so upset for? It's just how I feel, it doesn't mean anything. How can it hurt that much, just my thinking that you did it?"

"It means everything to me, Seif'. I haven't put myself through all of this only to have it thrown back at me the minute something goes wrong. Yes, you're ill and you're subjected to these awful thoughts and ideas and I know that that's not your fault. I accept that. It just doesn't stop it hurting when I'm accused of betraying someone I love. I love so few people, Seifer, that I don't like having my love challenged. I'm capable of feeling emotion so rarely that it hurts me when it's accused of being false. I can't pretend to feel when I don't, you know. Only the other way around." The tears continue to stream down my face and I hate myself for them; it's not his fault I'm upset. He can't help it and I shouldn't be burdening him. It just feels like a dam has broken on my emotion and now, I'm letting out the past ten years of emotional repression. Guilt flows alongside misery and the more I try to stop, the more the tears keep falling.

"I can't be won over with words, and you know that; no matter how much it hurts you. I just want you to know that I want to believe that it isn't true. I really want to and I don't know why I can't just now, but I can't. It's why you think I'm ill and it's why I'll continue trying to get better and I'm sorry for hurting you. I don't know why I'm like this and I just don't want you to be upset anymore. I used to want to make you cry, you know? When we were younger, Squall Leonhart's tears were like gems to me; the sign of something long hunted for but never, ever easy to win. Now that I have, I don't want the prize anymore. I can't stand seeing you so upset, please stop."

"I'm sorry," I say, and it comes out in a whisper. "I'm trying."

Slowly, he moves across his seat towards me and wraps one arm around me, laying his head down at the juncture between my neck and my shoulder. As the car speeds onwards and I try to gain control of myself, he nuzzles in closer to me, still holding my hand and hums a soft, gentle tune under his breath.

"Matron used to sing me that song," I eventually say, identifying its slow, sweet melody as a nursery rhyme of some kind. "After Ellone left."

"I know. It was the only thing that made you stop crying." He whispers against my throat, his blonde hair tickling against my skin.

I can only find it within myself to nod slowly, again having to fight against the onslaught of emotion. The car drives on, the scenery continues to flow past, the air continues to rush around outside and Seifer continues, on and on, to hum.

---

"President Loire?" The clipped, professional tones of my bored secretary filter through the open doorway and I turn around from the large window to see to her. Locking her eyes on my thoughtful gaze, she asks, "Am I interrupting?"

"Oh. No. I was just thinking, it's nothing important. What is it?"

"I've got someone here to see you." She informs me gently. "He hasn't an appointment but I thought I should just send him through."

I muse this over, depressing notions rising inside me at the thought of yet another militaristic strategist, here to tell me of the best way to kill Seifer Almasy for the good of my country. That or another of my supporters, here to tell me that his worship of me will only be enhanced by my heroic decision to rid the globe of this terrifying villain. I don't want to be a hero, not for this. It's all wrong. I should be a father before a politician, but I'm locked into this reality now and if truth be told, I don't know how to escape. It's been nearly a month since I made my announcement and it went nationwide on every radio and television station known to Esthar. Nearly 30 days of stalling and waiting and biding my time, slowly sliding down a cliff with no hope of ever seeing the view from the top again. I don't want to have to kill him but it's only a matter of time before I have to do it, before society pushes for it and chaos breaks out. I can only hope that Squall, a professional himself, can understand a politician's duty and how it can override a father's wishes.

Without waiting for my reply, or seeing it as an agreement, she sees herself out and goes to fetch the mysterious visitor. I turn back around to the window, watching the blinking glow of the city in the distance. I love technology, but there are times when I could kill for the lush greenery of Winhill. I miss the countryside, the people. Being the leader of a country has its perks, but it can be horribly isolating.

"Laguna." An all-too familiar voice breaks through my thoughts and I whirl around, guiltily delighted at the sound of my son's voice. My son...Hyne. Still feels strange to think it. I've never quite grown accustomed to the idea of having a child, let alone having the world's hero as my son. There's too much I don't know about him; so much that I want to find out and yet still, we remain so removed.

"Squall..." I breathe in a husk of air, quite taken aback by his surprise visit. Hoping that his intentions in coming here are positive, I say, "Please, sit down."

He remains standing, as if he hasn't heard. I take the pause to glance over him; those features that I recognise immediately as being Raine's being the most striking. He has her general countenance; the open, honest face with the touch of vulnerability belying inner strength. The eyes are hers; wide, blue, captivating. She never looked as sad as he does, I suppose, but I've only myself to blame for his current misery. I clear my throat, wondering how to ease the situation.

"How are you?" I grasp at straws, knowing that it's a meaningless filler of conversation but trying desperately to introduce a friendly sense of sociability to the tense atmosphere of the room.

"I just want to know your intentions." He says blankly, looking at me with dull eyes. He's keeping every ounce of emotion within himself, locked away somewhere I cannot hope to reach, and he looks exhausted. Is looking after Seifer so tiring for him?

"With Seifer?"

"Unless you have anyone else I care about on death row, yes, I'm talking about Seifer." He replies icily, shuffling one foot against the pale blue carpet. I sigh and sit down behind the desk, waving a hand at the seat before me to force him to sit. Knowing his place, he does so, but not without a show of reluctance. Once there, he keeps up an intimidating look that gives me an understanding into why half of Balamb Garden is terrified of him.

"You've heard the speeches and followed the controversy, I presume?" I hate myself for treating this like a business meeting, but I feel that I'm being given little choice. He is so clinical, so coldly professional, that I feel incapable of relaxing around him. My own son. I shake my head slightly, feeling something hurt inside.

"I've come to find out its logical end." He says; voice flat and emotionless. "I assumed that of anyone, you'd know what to make of the mess in the papers about the whole thing."

"Squall, just ask me what you want to know." I eventually respond, feeling already exhausted with the precision of his words, the look of steel in his eyes. I've always been fond of a sense of warmth and familiarity in family, something I'd been trying to develop with Squall and this meeting is anything but comfortable. "You don't have to be so formal.

"Fine." He tosses the word away carelessly, eyes flashing with a momentary surge of anger. I recognise the flare of temper with a pang inside; another of Raine's characteristics. I doubt he's even aware of how much he resembles her, but then he talks about her with Kiros, not me. How would I know? I've neglected him all of his life and as a punishment, it looks as though he'll reject me for the rest of mine.

"Are you going to kill him?" He asks firmly, bluntly; straight to the point.

"Not personally, I hope." I immediately respond, followed by the instinctive urge to kick myself. The attempt at humour doesn't go down well and he looks ready to strike me; only the desk separating me from the whirlwind of sudden fury.

"I'm sorry." I say, over and over, watching the look in his eyes change from raging to sorrowful, accepting of a fate which cannot be changed but made miserable by this realisation. "I...what can I say, Squall? You already know the answer to your question. I have to, you know that."

He nods, the tiniest gesture, and I feel terrible at the way that I've broken this to him. There must have been a thousand better ways to do it, perhaps even one from which he could have left with some kind of positive feelings towards me. But, no. I had to do it this way, didn't I? I don't know how to tell him that if I could, I'd leave Seifer alone, let them have their happy existence and not interfere. That I don't want to do this, but have no other option. That I'm a politician first, and a father second? It makes me shudder to think of it.

"You don't have to." He replies, and I raise my eyebrows. As if to answer my unspoken question, he explains. "I've never asked you for anything. I've never blamed you for not coming back for me. Yes, I've kept us distant until I felt I could deal with getting to know you, but I've not shut you out completely. My point is that now, I'm asking for something. Not as a businessman, as a son. I'm asking my father to do something for me."

"Squall, I-"

"I'll call you Dad, I'll turn up to family gigs, whatever." He goes on, raising one hand for silence. "And I know that it's a huge thing I'm asking for, but please, please understand how much I need you to do this."

"How do you feel about Seifer?" I ask, and with my eyes I request a truthful answer. It's a question I'm frightened of, not wanting the burden on my shoulders if it turns out his emotions are strong, but I need to know. Something inside me needs to know just how devastating a destruction I'm about to wreck upon my son.

"How can I answer that without you thinking I'm naive?"

"Squall, I would never think that. You're too withdrawn with your emotions for you ever to waste them on someone. If you tell me you're attached to him, then I'd believe you absolutely."

He visibly relaxes at this information, probably having been used to challenges on his faith. "I love him, for everything that he is. His being schizophrenic doesn't make me love him less; it's just a new shade of Seifer that I've learnt to deal with, to love in itself. Every facet of Seifer is something that I can love, that I feel drawn to love, and that I can't not love. I'd spend my life with him and then ask for more time."

"I feel that way about your mother," I say, steepling my fingers and feeling, for the first time, like a father should. "But it doesn't always last. Things can tear that apart; physical and emotional boundaries can form without you even sensing it. Your feelings are susceptible to change, Squall. Mine didn't, but that doesn't mean yours won't."

"Don't patronise me. He's tried to kill me more times than I can recall, we've hurt each other more times than we've eaten hot lunches. I've spilled more blood over him than I have over anyone else I've ever fought. I love him still. I understand what you're saying, but I believe that the time would have come before now were we to be parted. I don't want to lose him, Laguna. Please, don't take him away from me." His voice is barely a whisper, seeping vulnerability and pain. I can't bear to see my son this way, to have to close the matter on such stubborn, resistant terms. I know I cannot agree to what he's asking; that my country must come before my heart and Squall's. It's the way of the politician, a path he's known well and must understand. That path has kept him away from Seifer before and if it must do so again, then that is the way it has to be. He's been too late in loving and though my heart aches at the thought of refusing him this request, I muster up the courage to do it.

"Squall, I can't do what you're asking." Studying him with firm eyes, I reach for his hand and find it not there. "I'm sorry, if I could, I would. I can't, you know that. It's too much to ask. I'll do everything I can to keep it humane, but..."

"Dad, please..."

"I can't, Squall. I can't. He's getting worse, isn't he? Temper fraying more often than not, anger raging, stuck in the mud all the time? He's getting worse, he's exhausting you, and it has to end. It's the right thing to do, no matter how much it hurts now. You're better off without him."

All I hear with my eyes tightly shut is his breathing deepening, hastening; more ragged with his emotion. A dull roar pounds in my ears and I can feel a migraine coming on. Against ever moral fibre I possess, I bark out the remainder of my decision. I simply cannot bear the conversation anymore; breaking him into pieces before I ever began to know him, having him sat before me as a reminder of the guilt I'll carry for the rest of my life. I need him out of here, I need to escape.

"Please, just understand what I'm saying. Just trust it. No more words, Squall!" I raise my voice as he tries to interrupt and still with my eyes closed, I go on,  
"Please. No more of this. Please, just leave me. Go, now! I can't...just go. Try to understand."

After a few minutes, I find myself finally able to re-enter the reality which at the moment resembles some sort of hell. When I open my eyes, I am left totally alone.

--- 


	15. Chapter 13

Autumn Chapter 13

-One month later-

However hard I try to make my body go to sleep, the blissful escape eludes me. Seifer lies happily in slumber beside me; spikysoft hair wedged between my collarbone and my shoulder, arms draped over my belly, but even the sound of his rhythmic breathing cannot lull me into sleep. Blinking at the dark ceiling, I nuzzle gently against his hair with a weary sigh. I don't have a clue how much time we have left. I've talked to him about my father's resistance, even begged him to leave with me and to hide somewhere where the world cannot hurt him, but to no avail. He dismisses the subject as though it exhausts him and I'm getting more worried than I let on. If he remains here, Laguna will kill him. That much is certain. Death can only await his stay and I just don't understand why he won't run with me. If I press the issue, he goes wild, and I leave it alone on the premise of knowing that my father will not do anything without a prior warning. Perhaps a day or two before the death date, he will issue public statements, his victory calls to an adoring public. Delay will only work for so long, though, and I'm just so scared.

"Squa'?" The voice is husky in the darkness and I look down at the previously slumbering blonde. He glares up at me affectionately; green eyes soft and full of sleep. "Stop thinking, I can damn well hear you."

I look back at him steadily. "It's not that easy. Just go back to sleep."

Propping himself up lazily on one elbow, he yawns and asks, "Come on then, what is it? What the hell's going on in your head?"

Given that he's so relaxed from being asleep, warm and comforting, and that he's unlikely to remember the conversation in the morning, I decide to bring up the demonic subject again. "I just wish you would run with me."

"Squall..." He breathes softly. "Hyne. Listen to me. I can't do that. I'm not stupid; I know what's going to happen to me. Laguna wants me dead and will see it done, I know that. But I can't run. Not anymore, I've run too many times now. I have to face it, Squall, and so do you."

"What, you want this to end? You don't want to be with me anymore?"

"I want you to have a life, Squall. You're terrified of having a life and sometimes I think that's why you love me as much as you do. You don't need to have a life when you're with me because mine is big enough for the both of us. You can drive me to hospital, take me to my sessions, talk it over with me, calm me down from the attacks and all the while, you can fool yourself that you've got a life. You gave up your life for me, Squall; your home, your friends, your job. I'm going to give you it back with my own and nothing you can beg or plead of me is going to change that."

"This is our life, Seifer. Ours, not mine or yours alone." I insist, grasping hold of his biceps more with fear than anything else.

"I am not condemning you to this for the rest of your days. You're not even nineteen, Squall, and you behave as if you're forty already. You spend every damn day worrying about me, fussing over me and looking after me and it's ruining you. You're turning into a wreck because this is too much for us to do together. I can't make you believe that there's nothing wrong with me and your beliefs are exhausting you. I just don't want you to miss out on everything because you were too scared to let me go. I'll do it for you, if you can't do it yourself." He stares at me, eyes firm and demanding, grip on me just as tight as mine on his.

"You don't understand." I say weakly, voice no more than a bare squeak. "You just don't understand."

"No, Squall," He replies, "I understand too well."

"So this is it, then? I should give up?" My voice is becoming angry, desperate to find some way of changing his mind. How can someone like Seifer, so full of ambition and promise, just let go like this? It's totally unlike him and it completely unnerves me.

"I don't want to go on like this, Squall. I don't want to keep doing this to you and I don't want to have to live for the rest of life like some hunted animal, taunted, teased and trapped. I'd rather die gracefully when I have the chance than spend every day worrying about being caught. I can't live like that and neither can you. I'd be tying you down and I'd be tying myself down. It's not giving up, it's acceptance of inevitability. I don't want to lie any longer like this."

"No..." I hear myself say, distant and foggy. "I can't...Seifer, I can't just let you do it, I have to..."

"What, save me? You've been heroic all your life, baby. You need someone who can look after you now. For fuck's sake, look at yourself. You're absolutely exhausted, and my love for you isn't enough of a reward to keep you going. I'd end up hating myself if I condemned you to walk my path. Find someone who'll be your hero, Squall; stop being everyone else's." He keeps up the firm gaze, letting me know that he's sincere and that he will not back down. Suddenly, I am scared that if the deed is not carried out by the government, he will take care of it himself.

"I don't want anyone but you." I admit feebly, holding tears back by force of restraint only. "I don't want another hero."

"And I don't want to live this way. Please, Squall; don't make me carry on like this. You've been selfless for me before and I need you to do it again. Give me up, it's what I want. Whether I'm ill or not isn't important anymore, I'm a wanted man and sooner or later, I'll be caught and killed. Don't drag this out until we're consumed by the fear of a killer that never comes. Please, let me go."

"Seifer..."

"No, don't. Please. Just do this for me. I know it'll hurt you, and I'm sorry, but in the long run it'll spare you of scarier things than this initial pain. I know what I'm doing, Squall, and if you won't do it for yourself then do it for me. I want my dignity and I want my pride. Please don't take that away from me."

He lays himself back down, resting his head in the crook under my chin and I draw my arms around him. Taking this to be an agreement before I can even begin to understand his words properly, he sighs contentedly and closes his eyes.

"Grant me a dying wish, if you like." He whispers suddenly, interrupting my painful thoughts.

"What?" I whisper back, voice almost inaudible.

"The Orphanage," he replies, settling back against me with a brush of red-hot skin. "Take me back to the Orphanage." Once again, he is silent, and tears run down my face as I lie in the darkness, waiting to wake up from this nightmare.

---

A week later, I'm making good of my promise; or rather, I've accepted his request with only the bare minimum of pained resistance. Laguna's statement spread across the globe yesterday; six days after Seifer's confession to me that he was ready to die. The President stands a damaged figure observing the scene as Seifer and I walk, hand in hand, down to the beach. I'm not allowed to take Seifer to the Orphanage alone, the government being afraid that we'll embark on a runaway trip to escape the iron hand of the law. Laguna is an acceptable chaperone, even if our conversation remains on the frosty side. He is wise enough to know when to back off and give us both privacy; probably aware that he should give me my moments alone with my lover, given that he will soon after be killing him. Tomorrow. Such a long word for those bare crumbs of time. I can't even begin to understand the meaning of it, nor the impact of it. Saying it over and over again in my head does nothing to drive home the message; Seifer will die tomorrow. It's unreal, it can't be true. Something within me refuses to believe it; some ingrained shield of denial blocks the idea time and time again. It's probably for the best; it's the only way I can keep a smile on my face.

"I'm glad you're smiling," Seifer comments, looking over at the cloudy rush of the blue sea. It roars over his words, drowning them, and for the first time I wonder what it'll be like never to hear his voice again. The smile nearly falls. "It suits you better than that scowl you always wore."

"Hey," I point out, battling to keep my voice light. "That scowl paid homage to you, mister."

He grins. "Winding you up was the light of my life, Squally boy. Never was all that good at much else."

I put my finger to his lips. "Stop it. Those were her words, not yours. You don't need a Sorceress to be a hero, Seif; you were a perfectly good one without. She never made you any stronger than you already were. She added no worth to your name. As far as I'm concerned, you'll always be a hero."

"You'll remember me as one, then?"

I bite my lip. "Yes."

"Thank you." He says simply, guiding me into the shallow depths of the frothy surf. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the foreboding sight of my father; a black shadow over an otherwise beautiful picture. My hand is warm within Seifer's and too many thoughts flood through my mind; how I'm going to live without him, what I'm going to do when I wake up in two days time and he's no longer there. Selfish visions. The future must surely be more frightening for him; that dead end staring him straight in the face. He looks tranquil, though, and that gives me the courage to believe that what we're doing is right.

"Are you sure about this?" I ask cautiously, leaning unconsciously against his warm, black trench coat to fight off the coast breezes. The sky is a bright blue with only the tiniest glints of navy warning of the coming of the evening. It is cold, though, and I can feel a chill on my bare arms. The white vest and cut off, light blue jeans aren't any sort of opponent for the rough, salty wind and I'm glad of Seifer's forethought to dress warmly.

"You mean am I scared?" He corrects, a wry smile on his face. Looking at him with the wind whipping through his hair, you'd never know that there was anything the matter with him. Being out here alone with him isn't an experience that's entirely comfortable; always with him I'm slightly on my guard, preparing for a potential trigger. It is, however, as peaceful as life could get under the circumstances and the shadows of the future. I have faith in his medication to keep him from harm, but since he found out about the governmental discovery, the drugs have lost their effect to help him. He's gotten so much worse since he was found out and the irony of that is bitter. They're killing him because he's too dangerous, yet the reason for the threat is nothing other than their discovery. He would have improved had it not been for that final shock, the forcing through of his death sentence. Or would he? Perhaps it's just my wishful thinking, after all. My heart still wants to keep him alive, and I must confess that my mind hasn't quite gotten itself out of the same ideology.

"A bit. I don't know. It's no new idea for a soldier, is it? I was prepared to die from the moment I decided to go for SeeD, from the second I knelt at her feet. It just feels like inevitability, really. It's probably worse for you. This decision has been clear-cut ever since Laguna found out, whereas I suspect you'll always have questions."

"I guess so. I just don't want to lose you, is all. I'll keep asking myself whether it was really necessary, whether I could have done more to keep you alive-"

"No. This will be the one battle between us that I will win, Squall. You know as well as I do that if they don't kill me, I'll put Hyperion straight through me. There isn't anything you can do to keep me alive, I'm determined to do this. Don't ever, ever blame yourself because I promise you now, if you asked me to stay alive for you, I wouldn't do it. And you, you're the most important thing in my life. If I won't do it for you, I won't do it for anyone or anything."

I nod solemnly; unable to think of any response to his statement but knowing I'll remember his every word for an eternity. We begin to walk again, reaching a curve of beach shadowed by an expanse of cliff face. Carved into it is the entrance to a small cave, and Seifer stops to gaze for a moment into the darkness inside. I wonder if he's thinking about his life like that; some passage into the mysterious, black unknown. Before I have a chance to ask, he turns to me and smiles a little.

"You nearly became a Sorceress to me, after all. Grounding my illusions, as you call them, to some solid earth. My mind took off and you kept it in sight of home. Damn near became what Rinoa should have been for me. She'll find another Knight, I suppose, but you...? I want you to do the same."

"Let's not talk about this now." I finally decide. "We have this one last day that you wanted, Seif', don't fill it with all of this. I'll think about it enough when you're gone."

"Then what do you want to do?" He asks with a quirk of an eyebrow, a sly challenge raised in that one, tiny gesture. I shrug, perplexed; this is his last dream, his day. It's up to him to choose the way he wants to spend his last day on Earth, surely?

"Your choice." I say, matter of factly, flexing back on my heels and watching his face with, finally, a sense of some fragment of peace. And with the slow, unashamed grin that spreads across it, I know immediately his answer to my question.

---

"Are you-" I gasp out as he lowers me towards the sand. I am too aware of the presence of my father, of the crumbling surface I'm resting on, of the possibility of this being just a dream, to believe that it's really what he wants. Hands firm at the small of my back, he leans over me, taking a break from sucking and nibbling my neck to retort,

"If you're going to ask whether I'm sure, just shut up now." He grins, holding my hips tightly against his. "Doesn't it feel as though I'm sure?"

A low moan escapes my throat as I tilt my head backwards and whisper, "More than sure."

Making me comfortable against the yielding, soft sand beneath me, he covers his body with mine and throws his trench coat to the wind. Coming to a sitting position, I repeat, "I just wanted to ask. I don't want you to regret anything."

His hands fold over mine, wrenching the tight, white vest over my head and tossing it to the ground beneath me. I hold tightly to the sides of his face as he presses lips to my throat, licking over my collarbone to nibble at my nipples and the crevices of my ribs. Bringing his eyes back up to hold my gaze, he whispered with swollen lips, "How could I regret this?"

Looking straight into glowing, brilliant green eyes I feel myself throwing caution to the wind. He is everything that he was so long ago in that dream; a furnace of sinful heat and addictive charisma, and I knew my reluctance would be short lived. I capture him with my hands, feeling his lips meet mine in a frenzied haze of kisses, fast with the press of time and our feelings for one another. It's never happened between us; being somewhat irrelevant in the face of his illness and my responsibility, but clearly our bodies never thought of sex as something unnecessary. I can feel tongue hot against mine as he rids himself of his shirt, my hands flurried around his face and neck, fingers grasping at the metal pendant at his throat. It is steely cold against my hot palm and I sigh against his lips, drawing back to drown in emerald eyes. Pushing me back down against the sand with one firm, steady hand against my shoulder, he props himself up on his elbows and kisses from my forehead, over my nose and finally my lips; gentle and soft. Drinking him in, I wind my hands to the back of his head, raising my hips to touch his, slight thrusts displaying a need I could almost be embarrassed about, if I could care less. He reciprocates the gesture with the barest flick of his own and I can feel his smile against my mouth.

"Just lie back, Squall." He whispers as he bases himself on my thighs. "Just let me watch you. I want it to be the last thing I remember tomorrow."

Unable to speak, I obey his command and lie still, one arm thrown over my head and the other twining the chain around my neck. His lips move down my body, lapping and nibbling gently at points of interest, making me squirm into the hot, afternoon sand. As his mouth grazes lower over my body, I feel tempted to move my hips upward; put my back into it, but I let him call the shots this time. Restraining the urge to satisfy myself, I watch him lick a broad stroke down my breastbone until his tongue dips into my navel and he is still. Planting a kiss on that spot, I reach for him as light touches are placed down my lower belly; sensitive skin prickling to the feel of soft, full lips. I wish I could put my hands in his hair, show him my appreciation for his treatment but judging by the look on his face, my jagged movements are enough. Slowly, his hands wind around the waistband of my jeans, releasing the fastening and stroking beneath; the sudden heat of his hands taking me by surprise and making me gasp. Nuzzling his nose into the lines of my hipbones, he traces a quickly tongued pattern over my stomach and grins at my reaction.

"Let me do something..." I husk, scrunching up granules of sand within my fingers and setting them free with lazy hands.

"Stay still, that's all I want." He informs me in reply, a quick flick of his wrists ridding me of my jeans in a fluid, shockingly rapid movement. "Beautiful this way, just don't move. I want you just like this."

I place my head back into the hollow of sand underneath me and let him explore me in his own time; not exactly comfortable with being this submissive and unresponsive, but allowing him to take control. He runs warm, strong hands down my legs almost as if he is imagining Hyperion in his grip; something precious to him and something he knows inherently how to control. Thumbs rotate around my thighs, knees, ankles; little crevices that bring a sprinkling of goosepimples to my skin and make me shiver all over. Eventually, he crawls back over me, looking me straight in the eyes before allowing me to kiss him back, suckling firmly on his collarbone as he frees himself of his remaining clothes; a dark cloud thrown to the breeze that finds its way to the pale, warm sand. He kneels over me, hair blowing in the wind, arms stretched out to his side as I curl around his chest, delivering little nips where I can reach. Running hands over the backs of his thighs, we're locked in an embrace which finally brings out lips together once more; rising passion clashing in the force of our kisses. Taking the initiative, he lies back down with me comfortably trapped underneath him, smiles almost in victory and strokes a strand out hair out of my eyes.

"I can see the scar better." He grins, by way of explanation. "Mark of my ownership."

"Kink," I retort, replicating the gesture on his forehead and watching the smile grow warmer. "Seif', how are we going to...?" I say, with a sudden realisation. "We haven't got anything."

Crawling away from me with a guilty smirk, he returns with the necessary equipment, a flush over his cheeks. I gawp at him in an undignified fashion.

"My Hyne, you were pretty certain I was going to say 'yes', weren't you?"

"No lies, baby, I thought you would. But if there was the slightest chance in my mind that you would, I wanted to be prepared. This is the first and last time I'll ever get to do this with you, Squall, I didn't want to risk anything going wrong. I wanted everything perfect."

I say no more, forcing back the niggling little thoughts whose only purpose would be to serve the doubt in my mind. Leaving a sharp laugh to respond to his statement, I drag him back to his position over me on the sand and spread myself out for him. His eyes flutter over me, now completely vulnerable to his gaze, his heat, everything that he is. He takes hold of one of my hands, kisses the wrist, licking his tongue over my fingers and driving me insane. Seifer has this habit of focussing on the irrelevant, and this translates itself with me as being a deliberate misunderstanding of my erogenous zones. Looking into his deep green eyes, I know that he's teasing me, delaying the moment until I'm really begging, and something about this idea unnerves me.

"Don't, Seif'. Don't tease. Just come here, let me kiss you, and do it."

Knowing that I want us as equals, and that I want our union to be swift and inevitable, not distracted by odd teasing or feeling obligated to delay the moment, Seifer obliges. He cannot know of my dream, -how scared I was of his switching reactions, his delaying of explaining to me his true feelings and his psychological teasing-, but he does sense the urgency in my voice and he adheres to it. Running his hands up my body, he lets me kiss him into submission, working his grip underneath my thighs and making me breathe fast against his mouth. Slowly, he brings them to rest upon his bare shoulders, taking pause to lick my anklebone with a flash of his tongue and a cheeky grin. I wriggle a little to place myself better, wanting to bring him closer to me, wanting to see into his eyes. As I move towards him, I feel him begin, softly and almost without sensation, to prep me up. It is a strange feeling the first time around; cold within heat, but I pay more attention to his eyes wandering all over me beneath him. I need to maintain that eye contact, feel the emotions running between us, to feel comfortable. He takes my hand with his spare, kisses it, sucking on one knuckle, smiling all the while. With my eyes, I ask him to come downwards to face me and his promise to do so comes back to me in a flash of emerald green. Once he has sufficiently prepared my body for his entry, -and I leave that knowledge to him with the slightest grunts of intrigue and eventually, pleasure-, he gives me one nod.

Preparing myself, I am surprised to feel him duck his head wickedly into my groin for a few last touches of tongue; diving into shadowed shapes of bone and softer flesh with wet, full lips. Supporting me by the calves, he acknowledges my squeak with a smirk and looks back at me with one eyebrow elevated. Reaching upwards, I take as much shoulder I can in one hand and pull him down to me for a long, passionate kiss. Somewhere in the jostle of our lips, he prepares himself and I force through the entry, winding my left leg around his upper body and pulling him within me in a sharp, violent thrust. Eyes wide, his hands move immediately to my sides and he looks at me with concerned eyes, lust burning in the pupils.

"You shouldn't have...Squall, are you alright?"

Despite the inevitable pain that accompanies my lack of patience, I nod and bring him face to face with me. "Just move." I whispered back. "Move."

The rush of euphoria that sizzles through my veins as he does momentarily makes me breathless and he steadies his arms against the sand. Looking down at me, we make eye contact for no more than thirty seconds, but I feel closer to him than at any other moment in my life. Jade orbs hold my gaze, burning with pride, passion and if I dared, I could believe it; love, and my hands slowly capture his face so that the expression won't fade. As he moves slowly, making the discomfort of the new sensation easier for me, I bring him down for another kiss, forcing myself to focus on the softness of his lips contrasting with the fiery force of his kisses rather than the pain of his every thrust within me. I think he must know that it hurts, feeling the tension that I can't help exercising with the anticipation of his every movement. Slowing down completely, he finds other ways of pleasuring me; trying to take the edge off the sharp sensation, trying to make me feel good. Kissing tenderly across my neck, throat, chin and in smooth lines across ticklish plains to my earlobes, he moves his hands across my belly and takes me by hand. I flick my hips into the touch, growling contentedly with an edge of the surprise pleasure and he smiles down at my half-closed eyes. One hand stays at the base of my neck as I rise up into the stroking, amazing touch and lean my head back, eyes closed and falling into some sort of illusive dream.

"I'm okay," I manage to choke out. "Go, go, I'm...oh God. I'm okay."

Chuckling under his breath and kissing me full on the lips, he manoeuvres himself back into position and begins, once more, to move within me. Keeping up his frantic, burning hand, I no longer feel the insistent pain of his movement and I rock my hips back towards him. His growl rumbles deep in my ear and I smile at him, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out. Seeing the look in his eyes, I can almost feel the smile fall; his expression renders me almost motionless. His eyes are dark with lust but they burn with something I've never seen before on Seifer's face; a soft, frail expression of such emotion and care for me that I almost stop dead in moving. Gently, I run one hand down his face and try, in some unspoken way, to tell him that I understand and that it's reciprocal. Still moving, he buries his face in my shoulder and I believe the moment to be passed, moving my hips upward to meet him and reaching blindly for one of his hands, feeling as if I'm heading out of control and needing stability. As my blood starts to boil and my vision turns lighter, I only barely feel the soft, crystalline touch of tears on my collarbone. He pulls back to look at me; one fluid drop of salt landing on my face as I hold tightly onto him.

"Sorry," He whispers, though the word is unnecesary. "It means...this...everything. To me. Means everything."

I nod slowly, and he understands that it means the same to me. A weak smile crosses his face and his eyes seem to well up all the more, moving rapidly now within me and making me feel as if I'm on the edge of the world. I reach for his hand with mine, enclosing it within my palm and feeling myself move closer and closer to oblivion. The union between us created by these moments is almost too much to bear; that we are joined brings such a rush inside that I know it's not going to take long. Physical pleasure combines with emotional satisfaction and the beauty is too much for me. The sky darkens above us as we move as one, as heat pours from his skin into mine, as he joins himself with me; the shadows hit contours on our bodies. The sand is soft where I'm lying, safe and warm. Nothing like that dream I had; this is too serene, too comfortable and altogether too loving to be compared to that sharp, brittle moment in which my heart was spat upon. Yet the pleasure is the same; passionate, greedy and giving way to a desperate need for feeling between us. I would devour him if I could and I want this moment to last forever. Climbing upwards towards the end, I want to stay this way for the rest of my life. I could quite happily stay on this beach until eternity, feeling him plunge within me and making me whole.

When oblivion touches us both, in the heady roar of gasps and cries, I allow myself to believe that tomorrow will never come.

--- 


	16. Chapter 14

Autumn Chapter 14

-Six months later-

In truth, I still don't know what I'm expected to say now that it's all over. I wish there were a more pleasant end to the story; that after our lovemaking, Seifer changed his mind and agreed to fight for his right to stay alive and try to recover. I even wish that we were residing in some scummy, tiny little hut of a hideout, living for the moment by the skins of our teeth and never, ever feeling secure. At least then, we would still have been together, whether we lived in chaotic squalor or otherwise. As it was, Seifer was as certain about his fate as he ever had been and tomorrow did come.

It came in an acidic haze of whiteness; the hospital building, the medical grounds looming on the horizon like an angelic demon. We rode there with Laguna in tow, his presence necessary but his speech not forthcoming. Seifer, too, was silent but his hand clasping mine told me all that I needed to know about his feelings. The journey was agonising; every second slipping away and I knowing all too well that I was living inside an egg timer. Every grain of sand was a moment with Seifer by my side that I knew I would never get back, no matter how many Sorceresses I slayed. Would I have given up my victory over Ultimecia if it would have saved his life? In the heat of that moment, the desperation to keep my lover alive, I would have said yes again and again. In the cold mists of guilt, despair and icy acceptance, my answer would remain unchanged. I miss him so much.

He didn't look at me. I didn't ask him to. These were his last moments and I wanted him to fill them as he desired. I watched him taking in the neon scenery as if he'd never seen it before, as if he'd never lived there; gazing with a morbid kind of fascination at every building that passed him. I couldn't relate, not really. The prospect of death had always come to me in an instant; a sudden strike from an enemy, a mistake made in battle. I had never been in Seifer's shoes; possessing the cool, gradual knowledge that my life was about to end. Never had I had the time to think about it before I went down. It was all I could to do to allow him those last minutes of privacy to absorb from the world what he wanted to.

All too soon, the building had arrived before us and the car slowed to a distinct, painful stop. My eyes closed, I felt as if my mind were blank as thoughts warred on and destroyed one another. It was too much to think about all at once and I could only keep breathing, trying to retain composure. Still, he did not look at me. He had registered that the car had slowed and that he was about to face the fate that he has chosen; I could see that from the terror in his eyes. No matter how strong or skilled the soldier, death is not a fearless prospect for any of us, and I only wished I could bring him some comfort. There was nothing for either of us that could make this day any less cold, or any less dark, than it was destined to be but I wanted all the same to make his last moments as easy and as painless as I possibly could. Squeezing on his hand, I felt the intrusive glance of Laguna as a signal for us to be entering the building. Only once inside would the President feel secure that there was finally no going back and that this time, they had the sod of a war criminal well and truly cornered. Seifer looked at me, his eyes a little softer, trying to transmit a message of kind of reassurance into me. Like he himself, it's destiny was doomed. I could only replicate his expression and try to hold up our mutual fort as we slowly exited the car and stared up at the intimidating walls of the hospital.

White all the way to the sky, it seemed; a burning shade that made my eyes feel subjected to a sort of invisible fire. I glanced at Seifer, noting a similar view on his face, before he turned to me and we were forced by guards to follow Laguna's steps. Forcing back the onslaught of yet more, pointless tears I grabbed Seifer's hand in my own once more and we walked slowly, savouring each step like water in the midst of the desert. Hand in hand, as it always should have been but because of mutual stupidity, never was. But enough of that; there's enough sorrow as it is. Walking through that door was one of the hardest things I've ever done. The sheer force I had to employ not to tug him by the arm and run away was astronomical, but somehow, maybe watching the expression on his face, I stopped myself. He didn't look so afraid anymore. His decision was sown up; all options vanished into the air as the door slammed, a hollow, conclusive sound that made my heart ache. There was no more point in fear; now, he had no choice but to go through with it. The pressure of having an escape lifted from his shoulders, he pulled me closer to him as we walked. Our hips nuzzling, I threw one arm over his far shoulder and he took the hand in his right hand. His left arm slung around my waist, and I held that hand with my remaining one. This was the last day in which we'd ever feel the warm skin of the other, and we were damned if we weren't going to milk that for all we could get. We urged one another on with our steps, Laguna tactfully giving up the privacy we craved now that the door was firmly shut on any potential escape.

His body was warmer than I had expected it to be, I mused, as we passed through anonymous corridors of people. It was then that I thought, for the first time, of our informant. That little, senseless prick of a youngster trying to do the right thing. I could hate him but for the fact that I was the same at his age, always trying to do the best thing for my cause, working myself into the gutter just to be the best I could be. There have been days since where I've wanted to hurt him, even ones where I've been leaving the apartment to do so; Lionheart in hand, mind set on guilty vengeance. I can't bring myself to. It was mistake, a horrific and catastrophic one, but I cannot blame that boy without blaming us all; Matron, Balamb Garden, Quistis, myself, Seifer...

Seifer would have hated me ruining his memory by embarking on an ugly frenzy of pointing the finger and arguing. It would have been disrespectful and I've managed to hold back from its temptation. Right then, I could only think of him as a tiny fiend who had single-handedly and quite accidentally brought down the most dangerous man in the world. Beyond the boasts to his friends, would he feel sorry? Would the same agony that coursed through Seifer's veins and mine ever touch him? I held Seifer close to me and tried to block out these horrible notions, the dark demons of regret and devastation. His grasp was equally strong, as if holding us both upright, and before I knew it, we had entered the room in which I knew I would be able to stand only once. These four walls could surround us both only once; Seifer because he would never see them again and myself because I would never dare to try. Only the barest collection of staff stood around, weighted on by heavy solemnity, waiting for his lead. It was strange to see the authorities so submissive, especially to one so rebellious and resented as Seifer was. He too looked surprised, staring for a moment at Laguna who studied him with an unfathomable expression. I couldn't tell whether my father was pleased, disappointed, guilty or harmonious; he shrouded his internal feelings with a mask of unwavering coldness. Seifer soon dropped his gaze and moved it about the tiny room. Behind Laguna, two large windows overlooked a courtyard and the sun streamed in across the white, tiled floor. Surrounding the glass stood four, solid white walls; the intense paint broken up only by clinical signs with writing of cold blues and greys. Everything but the narrow bed to the right of the room was white.

I was too aware than this execution was not going to take place conventionally; Laguna had seen to that. The process of it was going to stay the same; tubes fed through a gap in the wall by the bed, from which three drugs would be anonymously administered. The changes were in the preparation; that I was allowed to stay with him during the last moments, that it was not to take place inside a prison or some such other aggressive place and that there would be no press intrusion. His dress was to be simple but not entirely enforced by the staff. Laguna had specifically asked that only he and I be present in the room when the deed was done and that I should be allowed time to recover being any announcement was made to the press. Though I desperately wished that the event did not have to occur at all, I was glad of my father's alterations. I couldn't bear the thought of watching Seifer lose his life without any kind of comfort, no warm touch to reassure him that everything was going to be okay, no sound of pointless, clichéd lies in his ears to make him smile at my naivety. The staff got on with their business as soon as Seifer had gotten his bearings, visibly unimpressed with the dull staleness of the white-washed room though appreciative of the glowing sunlight by which his death would occur. Getting him settled upon the slim bed, they had connected him to an electrocardiogram machine before I had time to capture his hand in mine. Sitting by his side, I gazed at him with a kind of numb disbelief, unable to understand how this was happening and what I should say.

Looking at me with a soft expression, he whispered, "I don't know how long this is going to take but-"

"Not long enough, right?" I whispered back, holding his hand so tightly I was worried I would break it. "Oh, God. Hyne. This can't be..."

"Sssh. Squall, stop it. Please, don't do that. I know, I know it's difficult but this is the right thing to do. Remember that this is what I wanted. Don't fill these moments with panicking, they're too precious. I've been thinking overnight about what I wanted you to know in the last minutes, before it was too late, but to be honest, I'm coming up blank."

"What I would say...I don't know if you'd believe it. I'm going to say it anyway because I need you to know it; that in these last weeks, Seifer, you've made me love you more than anyone I've ever known. I knew I was living on borrowed time but you made me believe that we could have every moment eternity had to give. You made me believe things about you and I that never would have made an impact if it hadn't been you who'd said them. You made me believe in myself. You made me love you." My words were babbled, mixed up, and I struggled for some kind of stability of speech.

"I'm sorry I'm not intact enough to appreciate everything you've said and done," he responded, as doctors buzzed all around him. "I only know the effort which you went to to save me, when I believed that I was worthless and a burden upon every soul on the planet. You bore every rock I threw at you, let my tsunami wash you over before brushing yourself off and continuing, and you did all of that without a single request in return. I used to mock you for being selfless and sometimes I can still despise you for being so damn wonderful, but it means more to me than I can possibly say to you."

I could only nod, trying with everything I had not to fall apart and succumb to the dry choke of sobs welling within me. "To say that I love you, Squall, would almost be a mockery of how I feel. It would sound cheap given all that you've done for me. It wouldn't do any justice to all that you've given me. I'd be insulting you to say that I loved you and yet it's the word for how I feel. I meant what I said yesterday. You're absolutely everything to me and I'm sorry for everything that I've done to hurt you. I'm vanishing from you and I want you to take life out of my death. It's all I can give you now. Given time, I hope you can understand what I'm saying and what's about to happen. Don't let the memory of it tarnish your thinking, Squall. Don't let it make a tomb for you. Go out and live, for God's sake, and when I see you smile again, I'll know that you're honouring my memory."

Tears sliding down my face, I watched with a void inside me the head nurse making final preparations to Seifer's body. Thick, grey restraints were pulled tightly over his ankles and wrists, but I refused to let go of his hand as she fussed by, making her tut unhappily and work around me. He watched her do so with the slightest hint of ironic amusement, and then looked back at me with an overwhelming tenderness.

"You make me feel guilty for crying about you dying, Seif'," I choked out, voice wild with emotion that I hated myself for but could not curb. "I just don't want to lose you. I love you so much, and I can't bear this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I want to be stronger but I can't be, I need you so much."

"It's okay. Just cry, it's okay. I love you. Let me go, Squall. It's what I want. Just hold onto my hand and let me go. You're beautiful, and I love you. Don't let anyone ever tell you differently. You're worth so much more than you'll allow yourself to be aware of and if you're going to honour me, you'll remember these words. Remember that I adore you and that you've earned that in everything that you've done. You're strong, you're courageous and you're passionate. You'll be someone's everything one day, Squall, just as you are mine. Don't ever let that slip your mind."

I placed my forehead to his hand, unable to look at him for the distress that threatened to eat me up inside. Forcing myself to calm down, to approach this situation with some kind of proper rationality rather than leaving him with this last, devastated vision of me, I looked up into his eyes and kissed his hand once. His lips turned slowly into a sad smile and I could see him fighting his own emotion. Gratefully, he allows the nurse's uncomfortable insertion of two intravenous tubes to pass as an excuse for the one tear that escapes his eye. The thin tubes worked their way from each of his arms through the hole in the wall to the separate room where the drugs would be filtered through into his system, and he regarded them with a removed sense of interest, no more than a passing glance. I could sense that time was running dangerously low, and I tried to explain to him everything that I wanted him to take with him before he left to his unknown fate.

"I'll make your name something great, Seifer, I promise you that. You'll always be a hero in my eyes but if you want the world to worship your name, I'll see it done. I'll get you the pride you always deserved and never had. I'll continue believing in myself if you just let me make something for you in the world you're leaving behind. Don't make me forget you, because I can't. Let me do this. Please, let me do this. I just want to love you, and please, let me do that."

"As long as you're moving on, Squall, you can do anything you put your mind to. Just don't let me drown you, don't let what I'm doing go to waste. Just come closer, now. We've got an understanding, haven't we? Nothing more to say on that matter. Just come close to me and let me hold onto you whilst all of this goes on. Let me take in what I'm going to leave behind."

"I've got you, I've got you." I said, quite unnecessarily. I couldn't have gotten my hand away even if I'd wanted to. The others in the room were completely forgotten as I shifted closer to him, capturing his hand with both of my own and whispering over and over again pointless verses of my feelings for him. He bounced the words back to me; reciprocating affection and tangling us both up in a mess of tears and entwined fingers. They left in a silent line, leaving myself, Laguna and Seifer alone for the event to start. It was truly it; no more words to delay it, no kisses able to prolong the moment.

"Last statement?" Laguna said softly, Dictaphone in hand and looking as if he wished he too could have avoided this day.

Seifer looked at him with glowing eyes, provocative; the way I knew him before he became so sick. His attitude was exuded in his every breath as he spoke clearly; gentle undertones only clear if you knew him. Firmly, he said,

"Take care of Squall."

His eyes widened slightly as a fluid ran down the tubes and entered his body, and I felt my grip only tighten on his hands. I know now that it was a saline solution, a preparation for the drugs that were about to be used, but back then we were both in the dark about what was happening. He put his head back against the surface of the trolley bed and closed his eyes briefly, opening them to look back at me, squeezing my hand as best he could without the bite of the tube hurting him. I couldn't smile, couldn't think, couldn't even breathe properly. I just held on as tightly as I could, tried desperately to remain calm and whispered reassurances through tight lips.

"It's okay, you're going to be alright, I've got you, it's okay, it's okay..." Meaningless promises, but he smiled nonetheless, grimacing only a little at the strange feeling of liquid entering his veins. His face contorted into an expression of pain at the prolonged sensation of the saline solution and I felt my heart ache for him, wishing that I could only take it all for him. The knowledge that it wasn't going to last long was a double-barrelled sword; I didn't want him to have to suffer too long under this torturous treatment, but I knew that his only salvation would be the end of his life. A couple of tears ran down his face and I found myself begging for someone to put him out of his misery, to let him go peacefully, to stop making his last moments so drawn out with agony. As if I myself had called the signal, I felt a timeless, everlasting second's pause before the first drug was administered; the one designed to take him away from the remainder of the execution, the one made to spare him whilst the witnesses can only watch and wait for the other two drugs. Pentothal, the anaesthetic, flowed down the narrow tube to reach its destination and I was aware that our remaining time together was no more than thirty seconds or so. Somehow managing to pull myself even closer to his side, I curled my body around the hand that I was clutching and took a deep breath, locking my gaze with his and taking in every ounce of him, every inch of the man who was leaving me behind. He returned my look with watery eyes, trying weakly to squeeze his hand into mind, to make a last effort at contact. I think I must have told him I loved him three thousand times, but it wasn't enough. There was never going to a sufficient amount of words for the feelings I had within me and I can only pray that he knew what I couldn't manage to say.

"Take care of yourself," He whispered gently, as the drug began to take its effect. "Remember all that I said, and take care of the you that I loved."

Practically choking on the words, I nodded frantically and whispered back, "But you'll never see my feelings change."

A smile took hold of his face as he knew, perhaps unconsciously, that his time was nearly up and he retorted, "That's the stubborn guy I know and love."

I put my hand to his forehead and stroked a strand of soft hair away from his face. Letting it fall back to expose the scar running towards his nose, I quickly performed the same movement on my own forehead and he chuckled under his breath.

"And own." I whispered softly, and his smile fell a little as the impact of my words hit him, before widening once more with his nod of agreement. Hair swept away from his open face, I had a clear vantage point as the drugs began to work on him; his wide, bright emerald eyes closing slowly as he fell away from me. From that point on, time became worthless to me as I buried my face in his relaxed hand, hearing the agonising slowing of breath as Pavulon was administered to paralyze his lungs. I can remember every agonising second that elapsed before the final step came, the potassium chloride needed to interrupt the electric signalling crucial to keeping a healthy heartbeat and to induce cardiac arrest. The sound of silence that came from the heart monitor perhaps should have stood as a solemn shrine to his death, but as it was, it was filled with the wrenching volume of my own bitter sobbing.

It took everything I had to try not to remember the description of me that was written in his handwriting, back when he considered me a military threat to his imaginary plan. I tried so hard not to let those words filter through my mind as I rested next to his motionless form, and it was a fight against an opponent destined to defeat me.

"Squall Leonhart. Stubborn to the death, a man to be avoided unless you have the courage and mindset to match his immeasurable strength. Once defeated, he makes a loyal, loving ally whose strength is immediately transformed into a fount of selflessness, care and love that belies his appearance of cold callousness. Fighting alongside him in the War would have been a dream, but permission to be with him would be a gesture equal to being granted access at the gates of Heaven."

--- 


	17. Epilogue

Autumn Epilogue

I watched my son leave that building without another word; as if Seifer had taken with him Squall's ability to speak. The sun bore heavily down on me as I stood by the window in the execution room, long after the clearance of the body and the merciless intrusion of the press, and I observed the lonely footsteps of my distraught only child.

What I thought was too many separate things to wind into one conclusion, but they were overrode by the black, horrific sense that I'd just made the greatest mistake of my life in choosing country over family. The hollow sound of Squall's boots hitting the unwavering pavement outside was tantamount enough to that notion, and I swallowed the lump in my throat as if to avoid paying him disrespect. My tears would be an insult considering the act that I had just committed and however much I cried, I would not bring him back. I could only watch him as he walked out my life; slow, exhausted movements as if all his blood had been drained and he had nothing left to keep him standing.

The subdued howl of the wind interrupted my anguished thoughts and I watched with little interest as it picked up the dry leaves scattered across the path Squall walked. Autumn was so close then, but I had forgotten completely about the change of season what with my consistent striving for political harmony. Still, the rusty, forgotten leaves did not inspire any kind of admiration or contentment in me and I saw them as little more than dead forestry, diverting my attention instead towards my lost son. Shrouded in black, he was a forlorn figure in the warm, autumn afternoon. The sun and the husky orange of the leaves contrasted to his miserable figure of darkness and I only had myself to blame for it.

I know, though, that his reaction will leave me confused for the rest of my days; like some sort of mystifying death sentence. He turned only a little, halting in his steps and stared up at the sky as if it would give him the answers. Eyes focussing on the flight of the leaves, whipped up from the stony ground all around his lithe, small figure, he stopped dead for a few moments. The burnt orange skeletons danced in his path, wound around him in rhythmic spirals, creating a visage of some autumnal spirit trapped on Earth. He reached out a shaky hand to clasp one, observing with a look of agony the movement of the swirling spirals, and placed it in his pocket.

Within a few seconds of blinking, he started walking again.

-END- 


End file.
